api;ifT l Kr ?.3..'»,,..v^^..y>;^^-^.fly, 3 cur V \DhO CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM THE LIBRARY OF PROFESSOR RALPH S. TARR 1 864-1 912. GIFT OF Russell Tarr 1939 The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031171980 "The village gossips wondered who he was, what he was, what he came for, and how long be Intended to stay." Yg\f¥**¥¥*¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥*¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ W * » » » * * » * ^ Q U I N C Y ADAMS SAWYER AND MASON'S Corner Folks A PICTURE OF NEW- ENGLAND HOME LIFE BY Chas. Felton Pidgin B O 5 T N C . M . C L A R. K. PUBLISHING COMPANY « « « « * « « « « « « «l4t|«|tfii««|«|«|«|4«|444«l44«l4444 \^ E.M. C, (- ^ ^^ «ie» UKMVIirtf'ITY |.-I.jnARY * * * * » * * * * * REVISED EDITION Copyright 1900 by Chas. Felton Pidgin, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. Copyright 1902 by Chas. Felton Pidgin, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. Entered at Stationers Hall Load o n Foreign Copyright Secured Rights of Translation, Public Reading, and Dra- matization Reserved . . . « * * « « * « « * * * * 44t««lbe satisfied with the three R's, Readin', 'Ritin', amd 'Rithmetic, and larnin' was dtealt out in rather meagre potions, 'bout three hionths in the winter after the wood was cut, sawed and split, and piled up in the wood- shed. We alius had to work in the summer, make hay and fill the barn in, and not till winter come could get a speck of larnin,' and then it took most of our time to pile wood into the stove and settle our personal accounts with the teacher." An audible titter ran through the audience at this sally. "And yet when I was young, though this commun- ity was Tather behind in letters, no people in the land could say they were our betters. But now the world is changed, we live without such grubbin', learn Latin, French, and Greek, how to walk Spanish, talk Dutch, draw picters, keep books, fizziolagy, and lots of other 'ologies and much piano drubbin'. Now what brought this about? I think I have a notion; you know the immergrants from about every country under the sun have piled across the ocean. They've done the diggin' and other rough work and we've thruv on their labor. I have some ready cash. Mr. Strout comes 'round and gets some oft every year, and likewise It was a marvellous rig that lie wore when he reappeared. THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 23 my neighbor has some put aside for a rainy day." Many of the audience -who probably had nothing laid aside glanced at the well-to-do farmers who 'had the reputation of being well fixed as regards this world's goods. "Perhaps I'm doin' wrong, ibut I would like my darter to know as much as those that's likely to come arter. But if the world keeps on its progress so bewild'rin' and they put some more 'ologies into the schools together with cabinet organs and fife and drum, I'm afraid it will cost my darter more than it did me to eddikate her childrin." A storm of applause filled the hall when the Deacon con- cluded his remarks. As he resumed his chair, Quincy handed him a tumbler of water that ihe had piouned- from a pitcher that stood upon a table near the piano. This act of courtesy was seen and appreciated by the audience and a loud clapping of hands followed. At the commencement of the Deacon's speech, the Professor had left the platform, for it gave him an opportunity for an intended change of costume, for -which time could 'be found at no other place on the programme. It was a marvellous rig that he wore when he reappeared. A pair of white duck pantaloons, stiffly starched, were strapped under a pair of substantial, well-greased, cowhide iboots. The waistcoat was of bright- red cloth with brass buttons. The long-tailed blue broad- cloth coat was also supplied with big 'brass buttons. He wore a high linen dickey and a necktie made of a small silk American flag. On his 'head he had a cream-coloreid, woolly plug hat and carried in his hand a baton resembling a small barber's pole, having alternate stripes of red, white, and blue with gilded ends. The appearance of this apparition of Uncle Sam was received with cries, cheers, and loud clapping of hands. The Professor bowed repeatedly in response to this ovation, and it was a long time before he could make himself heard by the audience. At last he said in a loud voice: 24 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. "The audience will find the words of number three printed on the last page of the programme, and young and -old are respectfully invited to jine in the chorus." A fluttering of programmes followed and this is what the audience found on the last page, "Hark! and Hear the Eagle Scream, a new and original American national air written, composed, and sung for the first time in pu'blic by Professor Obadiah Strout, author of last season's great success, 'Wel- come to the Town Committee.' " I. They say our wheat's by far the best; Our Injun corn will bear the test; Our butter, beef, and pork and cheese. The furriner's appetite can please. The beans and fishballs that we can Will keep alive an Englishman; While many things I can't relate He must buy from us or emigrate. CHORUS : Raise your voices, swing the banners. Pound the drums and bang planners; Blow the fife and shriek for freedom, 'Meriky is bound to lead 'em. Emigrate! ye toiling millions! Sile enuf for tens of billions ! Land of honey, buttermilk, cream; Hark! and hear the eagle scream. H. In manufactures, too, we're some; Take, rubber shoes and chewing gum; THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 25 In cotton cloth, and woollen, too. In time we shall outrival you; Our ships with ev'ry wind and tide, With England's own will sail beside. In ev'ry port our flag unfurled. When the Stars and Stripes will rule the world. CHORUS : III. For g-old and silver, man and woman, For things that's raised, made, dug, or human, 'Meriky's the coming nation; She's bound to conquer all creation! Per'aps you call this brag and bluster ; No, 'taint nuther, for we muster The best of brain, the mighty dollar; We'll lead on, let others f oiler. CHORUS : Professor Strout sang the solo part of the song himself. The singing society and many of the audience joined in the chorus. Like many teachers of vocal music, the Professor had very little voice himself, but he knew how to make the best possible use of what he did possess. But the patri- otic sentiment of the words, the .eccentric make-up of the singer, his comical contortions and odd grimaces, and what was really a bright, tuneful melody won a marked success for both song and singer. Encore followed encore. Like many more cultured audiences in large cities the one as- sembled in Eastborough Town Hall seemed to think that there was no limit to a free concert and that they were entitled to all they could get. But the Professor himself fixed the limit. When the song had been sung through three times he ran- up the centre aisle of the platform and facing the audience, he directed the chorus, holding the 26 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. variegated baton in one hand and swinging his woolly plug hat around his head with the other. At the close, amid screams, cheers, and clapping of hands, he turned upon his , heel, dashed through tlj-e door and disappeared from sight. The next number upon the programme was a piano- solo by Miss Tilly James. Nothing could have pleased her audi- ence any better than the well-known strains of the ever popular "Maiden's Prayer." In response to an encore which Quincy originated, and dexterously led, Miss James played the overture to Rossini's "William Tell" without notes. A fact which was perceived by the few, but un- noticed by the many. At the close of these instrumental selections, the Pro- fessor reappeared in evening costume and again assumed the directorship of the concert. Robert Wood had a pon- derous bass voice, which if not highly cultivated was highly effective, and he sang "Simon the Cellarer" tO' great ac- ceptation. Next followed a number of selections sung without accompaniment by a male quartette composed of Cobb's twins, who were both tenors, Benjamin Bates, and Robert Wood. This feature was loudly applauded and one old farmer remarked to his neighbor, who was evidently deaf, in a loud voice that was heard all over the hall, "That's the kind of music that fetches me," which declaration was a signal for another encore. The singing society then sang a barcarolle, the words of the first line being, "Of the sea, our yacht is the pride." It went oyer the heads of most of the audience, but was greatly ^ appreciated by the limited few who were acquainted with the difficulties of accidentals, synaopations, and inverted musical phrases. According to the programme the next feature was to be a duet entitled "Over the Bridge," composed by Jewell and sung by Arthur Scates and Miss Lindy Putnam The Pro- THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 27 fessor stepped forward and waved his hand to quiet the somewhat noisy assemblage. "The next number will have tO' be omitted," he said, "because Mr. Scates is home sick abed. The doctor says he's got a bad case of quinsy," with a marked emphasis on the last word, which, however, failed to make a point. "In response to requests, one verse of 'Hark! and Hear the Eagle Scream' will be sung to take the place of the piece that's left out." While the Professor was addressing the audience, Quincy had whispered something in Deacon Mason's ear which caused the latter to smile and nod his head approvingly. Quincy arose and reached the Professor's side just as the latter finished .speaking and turned towards the chorus. Quincy said something in a low tone to the Professor which caused Mr. Strout to shake his head in the negative in a most pronounced manner. Quincy spoke again and looked towards Miss Putnam, who was seated in the front row, and whose face wore a somewhat disappointed look. Again the Professor shook his head by way of negation and the words, "It can't be did," were distinctly audible to the majority of both singing society and audience, at the same time a look of oontemipt spread over the singing- master's face. Quincy perceived it and was nettled by it. He was not daunted, however, nor to be shaken from his purpose, so he said in a loud voice, which was heard in all parts of the hall: "I know the song, and will sing it if Miss Putnam and the audience are willing." With a smile upon her face. Miss Putnam nodded her acquiescence. All the townspeople had heard of Quincy's liberality in providing a hot supper for the sleighing party the night before, and cries of "Go ahead! Give him a chance! We want to hear him!" and "Don't disappoint Miss Putnam," were heard from all parts of the hall. TTie Professor was obliged to give in. He sat down with a 28 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. disgusted look upon his face, and from that moment war to the knife was declared between these champions of city and country civilization. Mr. Sawyer went to the piano, opened Miss James's copy of the music and placed it upon the music rack before her, saying a few words to her which caused her to smile. Quincy then approached Lindy, opened her music at the proper place and passed it to her. Next he took her hand and led her to the front of the platform. These little acts of courtesy and' politeness, performed in an easy, graceful, and self-possessed manner, were seen by all and won a round of applause. The duet was beautifully sung. Quincy had a fine well- trained tenor voice, while Miss Putnam's mezzo-soprano was full and melodious and her rendition fully as artistic as that of her companion. One, two, three, four, five, six encores followed each other in quick succession, in spite of Professor Strout's endeavors to quell the applause and take up the next number. The ovation given earlier in the evening to Professor Strout was weak in comparison with that vouchsafed to -Quincy a.nd Lindy when they took their seats. In vain did the Professor strive to make himself heard. Audience and chorus seemed to be of one mind. The Professor, his face as red as a beet, turned to Ezekiel Pettengill and said : "That was a mighty impudent piece of business, don't you think so?" "They're both mighty fine singers," Ezekiel responded in a rather unsympathetic tone. Quincy realized that something must be done to satisfy the demands of the now thoroughly excited audience. Going to -Miss James, he asked her a question in a low voice, in reply to which she nodded affirmatively. He next sought Miss Putnam and evidently asked her the same question, receiving a similar answer. Then be led her for- THE CONCERT IN THE TOWN HALL. 29 ward, and she sang the opening part of "Listen to the Mocking Bird." After they had sung the chorus it was repeated on the piano and Quincy electrified the audience by whistling it, introdudng all the trills, staccaitos, and roulades that he had heard so many times come from under Billy Morris's big mustache at the little Opera House on Washington Street, opposite Milk, run by the Morris Brothers, Johnny Pell, and Mr. Trowbridge, and when be finished there flashed through his mind a pleasant memory of Dr. Ordway and his ^olians. An encore was responded to, but the tumult still continued. Turning to Ezekiel, Strout said: "Ain't it a cussed shame to spoil a first-class concert this way?" "He's a mighty fine whistler," replied Ezekiel in the same tone that he had used before. Finally to quiet their exuberance Quincy was obliged to say a few words, which were evidently what the audience was waiting for. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "the hour is getting late and there is another number on the programme. Miss Putnam is tired and I shall have to wet my whistle before I can use it again. I thank you for your kind indulgence and applause." This little speech pleased the audience. It was down to their level, with "no sign of stuckupativeness about it," as one country girl remarked to her chum. Quincy ibowed, the audience laughed, and quiet was restored. The Professor 'had fidgeted, fumed, and fussed during Quincy's occupancy of the platform. He now arose with feelings impossible to express and took up his baton to lead the closing chorus. He brought it down with such a whang as they could keep the profits and ANCEST«r VERSUS PATRIOTISM. 39 interest coming in? It wasn't the Quincys and the Adamses and the other fellers with big names that stayed at home and hollered who saved the country, but the rank and file that did the fightin', and I was one of them." As he said this the irascible Professor shook his fist in Quincy's face, to which a red flush mounted, dyeing cheek and brow. "That's the Lord's truth," said Abner Stiles. Then he called out in a loud voice, "Second round for the Professor. Now for the finish." But the finish did not come then. The settlement be- tween these two lingual disputants did not come for many days. The reason for a sudden cessation of the wordy con- flict was a shrill, feminine voice, which cried out from the store platform: ."Hiram Maxwell, where are you? Mother's most out of patience waiting for you." "Good Lord!" cried Hiram, breaking through the crowd and rushing to the counter to make the long-deferred pur- chase. "I'm coming in a minute." "I think I had better see you home," remarked Huldy Mason, entering the store. As she advanced the crowd separated and moved back- ward, leaving her a dear path. "Why, how do you do, Mr. Sawyer?" said she in a pleas- ant voice and with a sweet smile, as she reached Quincy. "Won't you help me take Hiram home?" "I should (be happy to be of service to you," replied Quincy. The professor turned his back toward Miss Mason and began talking in an animated manner to Abner Stiles, Bob Wood, and a few other ardent sympathizers who gaithered about him. The rest of the crowd were evidently more interested in watching the pretty Miss Mason and the genteel Mr. Saw- 40 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. yer. When Hiram left the store with his purchases under one arm and Quincy's box of cigars under the other, he was closely followed by Quincy and Huldy, who were talking and laughing together. The crowd of loungers streamed out on the platform again to watch their departure. As Quincy and Huldy turned from the square into the road that led to the Deacon's house they met Ezekiel Petten- gill. Huldy nodded gayly and Quincy raised his hat, but Ezekiel was not acquainted with city customs and did not return the salutation. A few moments later the Professor and Abner Stiles were relating to him the exciting occur- rences of the last half hour. CHAPTER V. MR. SAWYER MEETS UNCLE IKE, QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER had not oomie down to Mason's Corner with any idea of becoming a hermit. His father was a great lawyer and a very wealthy man. He had made Quincy a large allowance during his college days, and had doubled it when his only son entered his law ofifice to complete his studies. Quincy had worked hard in two ways ; first, to read law, so as to realize the great anticipations that his father had concerning him; second, he worked still harder between eight in the evening and one, two, and even four in the morning, to get rid of the too large allowance that his father made him. Like all great men, his father was unsuspicious and easily hoodwinked aibout family matters; so when Quincy grew listless and on certain occasions fell asleep at his desk his renowned and indulgent father decided it was due to over- work and sent him down to Eastborough for a m'0«th's rest and change of scene. His father had known Isaac Pettengill, and in fact had conducted many successful suits for him; besides this he had drawn up the papers when Uncle Ike divided his for- tune. Quincy's father had written to Uncle Ike, asking him to find his son a boarding place, and Uncle Ike had selected Deacon Mason's as the best place for him. Quincy's father had told him to be sure and get ac- quainted with Mr. Isaac Pettengill, saying he was a man of 42 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. fine education, and added, "I sometimes feel, Quincy, as though I would like to go into the country and take care of a chicken farm myself for a while." His mother came of the best New England stock, and although she had been named Sarah and her husband's name was Nathaniel, we have seen that the son had been endowed with the rather high-sounding name of Quincy Adams, which his schoolmates had shortened to Quince, and his college friends had still further abbreviated to Quinn. Quincy had two sisters and they had been equally honored with high-sounding appellations, the elder being called Florence Estelle and the younger Maude Gertrude, but to pa, ma,. brother, and friends they were known as Flossie and Gertie. The next day after the afifair at Hill's grocery, Quincy put several of the best cigars in town in his pocket and started towards Eastborough Centre for a walk, intending to call upon Uncle Ike Pettengill. The young man knew that late hours and their usual ac- companiments were what had undermined his health, so he determined to make his vacation of good service to him and recover his accustomed health and strength, and when he returned home cut his old acquaintances and settle down earnestly and honestly to the battle of life. He had been a favorite in city society; he was well edu- cated, well read, had travelled considerably and was uni- formly polite and afiable to all classes, from young chil- dren to old men and women ; he was very careful about his dress, and always had that v^f ell-groomed appearance, which in the city elicits commendation, but which leads the aver- age countryman to say "dude" to himself and near friends when talking about him. Quincy was no dude; he had been prominent in all college athletic games; he had been a member of the 'varsity eight in one of its contests with Yale, and had won a game for MR. SAWTER MEETS UNCLE IKE. 43 Harvard with Yale at ba&e ball by making a home run in the tenth inning on a tied score. He was a good musician and fine singer. In addition he was a graceful dancer, and had taken lessons in boxing, until his feather-weight teacher suggested that he had better find a heavy-weight instructor to practise on. Quincy was in his twenty-third year. He had been in love a dozen times, but, as he expressed it, had been saved from matrimony by getting acquainted with a prettier girl just as he was on the point of popping the question. But we left him walking along on his way to Eastborough Centre. Deacon 'Mason had told him Uncle Ike's house was away from the road, some hundred feet back, and that he could not mistake it, as he could see the chicken coop from the road. He finally reached it after traversing about a mile and a half, it being another mile and a half to East- borough Centre. He found the path that led to the house. As he neared the steps a huge dog arose from a reclining posture and faced him, not in an ugly mood, but with an expression that seemed to say, "An introduction will 'be necessary before you come any farther." The dog seemed to understand that it was his duty to bring about the necessary introduc- tion, so he gave a series of loud barks. The door was quickly opened and Uncle Ike stood in the doorway. "Do I address 'Mr. Isaac Pettengill?" asked Quincy. Uncle Ike replied, "That's what they write on my letters." Quincy continued, "My name is Quincy Adams Sawyer. I am the only son of the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer of Boston, and I bear a letter of introduction from him to you." Quincy took the letter from his pocket and held it in his hand. The dog made a quick movement forward and be- fore Quincy could divine his object, he took the letter in his mouth and took it to Uncle Ike, and, returning, faced Quincy again. 44 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. Uncle Ike read the letter slowly and carefully; then he turned to Quincy and said, "If you will talk about birds, fisih, dog's, and ohickens, you are welcome, and I shall be glad to see you now or any time. If you talk about law- suits or religion I shall be sorry that you came. I am sick of lawyers and ministers. If you insist upon talking on such subjects I'll tell Swiss, and the next tinie you come he won't even bark to let me know you're here.'' Quincy took in the situation, and smiling said, "I am tired of lawyers and lawsuits myself; that is the reason I came down here for a change. The subjects you mention will satisfy me, if you will allow me to put in a few words about rowing, running, bo'xing, and football." Uncle Ike-replied, "The physically perfect man 1 admire, the intellectually perfect man is usually a big bore ; I prefer the company of my chickens." Turning to Swiss he said with a marked change in his voice, "This is a friend of mine, Swiss." Turning to Quincy he said, "He will admit you until I give him directions to the contrary." The dog walked quietly to one side and Quincy advanced with outstretched hand toward Uncle Ike. Uncle Ike did not extend his. He said, "I never shake hands, young man. It is a hollow social custom. With Damon and Pythias it meant something. One was ready to die fpr the other, and that hand-clasp meant friendship until death. How many hand shakings mean that now- adays? Besides," with a queer smile, "I have just been cutting up a broiler that I intend to cook for my dinner. Come in, you are welcome on the conditions I have men- tioned." Quincy obeyed and stepped into the kitchen of Sleepy Hollow. He owned to himself in after years that that was the most important step he had taken in life — the turning- point in his career. CHAPTER VI. SOME NEW IDEAS. DID you ever kill a chicken?" asked Uncle Ike, as Quincy entered the room and took a seat in the wil- low rocker Uncle Ike pointed out to him. "No," replied Quincy, "but out in Chicago I saw live hogs killed, bristles taken off, cut up, assorted according to kind and quality, and hung up to cool off, in three minutes." Uncle Ike responded vehemently, "Yes, I know, and it is a shame to the American people that they allow such things." "That may be true," said Quincy, "but even at that speed they cannot kill and pack as fast as it is wanted." "Yes," said Uncle Ike, "in the old days man feared God, and he treated' man and beast better for that reason. In these days man serves Mammon and he will do anything to win his favor." "Do you think it is true that men were better in the old days?" asked Quincy. "No," answered Uncle Ike, "I didn't say so. I said that in the old days man was afraid to do these things ; now if he has money he is afraid of neither God, man, nor the devil. To speak frankly, that is why I am- so independent myself. I am sure of enough to support me as long as I live ; I owe no man ainything, and I allow no man to owe -me anything." Quincy, changing the subject, inquired, "What is your method of killing chickens?" 46 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. Uncle Ike said, "Let me tell you why I devised a new plan. iW'hen I was about eight years old I went with my mother to visit an uncle in a neighboring town. I was born in Eastborough myself, in the old Pettengill house. But this happened some twenty miles from here. My uncle was chopping wood, and boy like, I went out to watch him. An old rooster kept running around the iblock, flapping its wings, making considerable noise. Uncle shooed him off three or four times. Finally uncle made a grab at him, caught him by the legs,- whacked him down on the block and with his axe cut ofif his head close to his body, and then threw it out on the grass right in front of me. Was that rooster dead? I thought not. It got up on its legs, ran right towards where I was sitting, and before I could get away I was covered with the blood that came from its neck. I don't know how far the rooster ran, but I know I never stopped until I was safe in my mother's arms. The balance of the time I stayed there you could'nt get me within forty yards of my uncle, for every time I met him' I could see myself running around without my head." "That made a lasting impression on you," remarked Quincy. "Yes," said Uncle Ike, "it has lasted me sixty-eight years, one month, and thirteen days," pointing to a calendar that hung on the wall. As Quincy looked in the direction indicated he saw something hanging beside it that attracted his attention. It was a sheet of white paper with a heavy black border. Within the border were written these words, "Sacred to the memory of Isaac Pettengill, who was killed at the battle of Gettysburg, July 4th, 1863, aged twenty-nine years. He died for his namesake and his native land." Quincy said interrogatively, "Did you lose a son in the war?." SOME NEW IDEAS. 47 "No," was the reply. "I never had a son. That was my substitute." "Strange that your substitute should have the same name as yourself." "Yes, it would have been if he had, but he didn't. His right name was Lemuel Butters. But I didn't propose to put my money into such a name as that." "Were you drafted?" asked Quincy. "No," said Uncle Ike. "I might as well tell you the whole story, for you seem bound to have it. I came down here iij, 1850, when I was about sixty. Of course I knew what was going on, but I didn't take much interest in the war, till a lot of soldiers went by one day. They stopped here; we had a talk, and they told me a number of things that I hadn't seen in the papers. I haven't read the daily papers for thirteen years, but I take some weeklies and the magazines and buy some books. Well, the next day I went over to Eastborough Centre and asked the select- men how much it would cost to send a man to the war. They said substitutes were bringing $150 just then, but that I was over age and couldn't be drafted, and there was no need of my sending anybody. I remarked that in my opinion a man's patriotism ought not to die out as long as he lived. It seemed to me that if a man had $150 it was his duty to pay for a substitute, ii he was a hundred. The selectmen said that they had a young fellow named Lem Butters who was willing to go if he got a hundred and fifty. So I planked down the money, but with the understanding that he should take my name. Well, to make a long story short, I got killed at Gettysburg and I wrote that out as a reminder." "Don't you ever get lonesome alone here by yourself?" Quincy asked. "Yes," said Uncle Ike. "I am lonesome every minute of the time. That's what I came down here for. I got tired 48 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. being lonesome with other people around me, so I thought I would come down here and be lonesome all by myself, and I have never been sorry I came." Quincy opened his eyes and looked inquiringly at Uncle Ike. "I don't quite understand what you mean by being lone- some with other people around you," said he. "No, of course you don't," replied Uncle Ike. "You are too young. I was sixty. I was thirty-five when I got mar- ried and my wife was only twenty-two, so when I was sixty she was only forty-seven. One girl was twenty-three and the other twenty. I went to work at seven o'clock in the morning and got home at seven at night. My wife and daughters went to theatres, dinners, and parties, and of course I stayed at home and kept house with the servant girl. In my business I load taken in two young fellows as partners, both good, honest men, but soon they got to fig- uring that on business points they were two and I was one, and pretty soon all I had to do was to put wood on the fire and feed the office cat. So you can see I was pretty lone- some about eighteen hours out of the twenty-four." Quincy said reflectively, "And your family — " Uncle Ike broke in, "Are alive and well, I suppose. They don't write me and I don't write them. I told my partners they must buy me out, and I gave them sixty days to do it in. I gave my wife and daughters two-thirds of my fortune and put the other third into an annuity. I am calculating now that if my health holds good I shall beat the insurance company in the end." Quincy, finding that his inquiries provoked such inter- esting replies, risked another, "Are your daughters mar- ried?" Uncle Ike laughed quietly. "I don't read the daily papers as I said, so I don't know, but they wouldn't send me cards anyway. They know my ideas of marriage." SOME NEW IDEAS. 49 Quincy, smiling, asked, "Have you some new ideas on that old custom?" "Yes, I have," replied Uncle Ike. "If two men go into business and each puts in money and they make money or don't make it, the law doesn't fix it so that they must keep together for their natural lives, but allows the firm to be dissolved by mutual consent." "Why, sir, that would make marriage a limited partner- ship," said Quincy with a smile. "What better is it now?" asked Uncle Ike. "The law doesn't compel couples to live together if they don't want to, and if they don't want to live together, why not let them, under proper restrictions, get up some new firms? Of course, there wouldn't be any objection to parties living ■together for their natural lives, if they wanted to, and the fact that they did would be pretty good proof that they wanted to." Quincy started to speak, "But what — " "I know what' you were going to say," said Uncle Ike. "You are going to ask that tiresome old question, what will become of the children? Well, I should consider them part of the property on hand and divide them and the money according to law." "But few mothers would consent to be parted from their children." "Oh, that's nonsense," replied Uncle Ike. "I have a Massachusetts State Report here that says about five hun- dred children every year are abandoned by their mothers for some cause or other. They leave them on doorsteps and in railroad stations; they put them out to board and don't pay their board ; and the report says that every one of these little waifs is adopted by good people, and they get a better education and a better bringing up than their own parents could or would give them. Have you ever read, Mr. Saw- 50 QTJINCT ADAMS SAWYER. yer, of the Austrian baron who was crossed in love and decided he would never marry?" Quincy shook his head. "Well, he was wealthy and had a hig castle, with no one to live in it, and during his life he adopted, educated, clothed, and sent out into the world, fitted to make their own living, more than a thousand children. To my mind, Mr. Sawyer, he was a bigger man than any emperor or king who has ever lived." Quincy asked, "But how are you going to start such a reform, Mr. Pettengill? The first couple that got reunited on the partnership plan would be the laughing stock of the community." "Just so," said Uncle Ike, "but I can get over that diffi- culty. The State of Massachusetts has led in a great many social reforms. Let it take the first step ^forward in this one; let it declare by law that all marriages on and after a certain day shall terminate five years from the date of marriage unless the couples wish to renew the bonds. Then let everybody laugh at everybody else if ftiey want to." "Well, how about those couples that were married before that day?" "That's easy," was Uncle Ike's reply. "Give them all a chance five years after the law to dissolve by mutual con- sent, if they want to. Don't forget, Mr. Sawyer, that with such a law there would be no need of divorce courts, and if any man insulted a woman, imprisonment for life and even the gallows wouldn't be any too good for him. Will you stay to lunch, -Mr. Sawyer? My chicken is about done." Quincy arose and politely declined the invitation, saying he had been so much interested he had remained much longer than he had intended, but he would be pleased to call again some day if Mr. Pettengill were willing. "Oh, yes, come any time," said Uncle Ike, "you're a good listener, and I always like a man that allows me to do most SOME NEW IDEAS. 51 of the talking. By the way, we didn't get a chance to say much this time about shooting, fishing, or football." Quincy went down the steps, and Uncle Ike stood at the door, as he did (before he entered. Swiss looked at Quincy with an expression that seemed tio say, "You have made a pretty long call." Quincy patted him on the head, called him "good dog," and walked briskly down the path towards the road. When he was about fifty feet from the house, Uncle Ike called out sharply, "Mr. Sawyer!" Quincy turned on his heel quickly and looked towards the speaker. Uncle Ike's voice, still sharp, spoke these farewell words: "I forgot to tell you, Mr. Sawyer, that I always chloro- form my chickens before I cut their heads off." He stepped back into the house. Swiss, with a bound, was in the room beside him, and when Quincy ag^in turned his steps towards the road the closed door had shut them (both from view. CKAiPTER Vn. "THAT CITY FELLER." AS usual, the next morning Hiram was down to the Pettengill house between nine and ten o'clock. Hei opened the kitchen door unobserved by Mandy and looked in at her. She was standing at the sink washing dishes and singing to herself. Suddenly Hiram g'ave a jump into the room and cried out in a loud voice, "How are you, Mandy?" She dropped a tin pan that she was wiping, which fell with a clatter, breaking a plate that happened to be in the sink. "I'm much worse, thank you," she retorted, "and. none the better for seeing you. What do you mean by coming into the house and yelHng like a wild Injin? I shall expect you to pay for that plate anyway." "He who breaks pays," said Hiram with a laugh. "But why don't you shake hands with a fellow?'' "I will if I like and I won't if I like," replied Mandy, extending her hand, which was covered with soapsuds. "Wipe your hand," said Hiram, "and I'll give you this ten cents to pay for the plate." As he said this he extended the • money towards her. Mandy did not attempt to take it, but giving her wet hand a flip threw the soapsuds full in Hiram's face. He rushed forward and caught her about the waist; as he did so he dropped the money, which rolled under the kitchen table. M^ndy turned around quickly and facing Hiram, caught ' Mandy and Hiram.* THAT CITY FELLEK. 53 him by both ears, which she pulled vigorously. He released his hold upon her and jumped back to escape further pun- ishment. "Now, Mi". Hiram Maxwell," said she, facing him, "what do you mean by such actions? I've a good mind to put you outdoors and never set eyes on you again. What would Mr. Pettengill have thought if he'd a come in a min- ute ago?" "I guess he'd a thought that I was gittin' on better'n I really am," replied Hiram, with a crestfallen look. "Now, Mandy, don't get mad, I didn't mean nothin', I was only foolin' and you began it fust, by throwin' that dirty water in my face, and no feller that had any spunk could stand that." As he said this, a broad smile covered his face. "Say, Mandy," he continued, "here comes Obadiah Strout, we'd better make up before he gits in or it'll be all over town that you and me have been fightin'. Got any chores this mornin', Mandy, that I can do for you?" At this moment the kitchen door was again opened and Professor Strout entered. "Where's Pettengill?" he asked of Mandy, not noticing Hiram. "I fguess he's out in the wood-shed, if he hasn't gone sornewheres else," replied Mandy, resuming her work at the sink. Strout turned towards Hiram and said, as if he had been unaware previously of his presence, "Oh! you there, Hiram? Just go find Pettengill for me like a good feller and tell him Professor Strout wishes to see him up to the house." "At the same time, Hiram," said Mandy, "go find me that dozen eggs that I told you I wanted for that puddin'." Hiram winked at Mandy, unseen by the Professor, and started for the chicken coop. "Guess I'll have a chair," remarked the Professor. 64 QtJIKCY ADAMS SAWrEE. "All right, if you don't take it with you when you go," replied Mandy, still busily washing dishes. "Fine weather,'' said Strout. "Sorter between," laconically replied Mandy. "Did you enjoy the concert?'' asked Strout. "Some parts of it," said Mandy. "I thought Mr. Sawyer and Miss Putnam were just splendid. His whistling was just grand." "He'll whistle another kind of a tune in a few days," remarked Strout. "What? Are you going to give another concert?" asked 'Mandy, looking at him for the first time. "If I do," replied the Professor, "you bet he won't be one of the performers." "Oh, I see," said Mandy, "you're mad with him 'cause he hogged the whole show. Mr. Maxwell was just telling me as how Mr. Sawyer was going to hire the Town Hall on Washington's birthday and ibring down a big brass band from Boston and give a concert that would put you in the shade, and somebody was telling me, I forget who, that iMr. Sawyer don't like to sit 'round doing nothin', and he's goin' to give music lessons." These last two untruthful shots hit the mark, as she knew they would, and Strout, aJbandoning the su'bject, blurted out, "Where in thunder's that Hiram? I'll be blowed if I don't believe he went to look for the eggs first." "I reckon he did," said Mandy, "if he means to keep on good terms with me. He ain't likely to tend to stray jobs till he's done up his regular chores." "I s'pose Deacon Mason sends him down here to wait on you?" remarked Strout with a sneer. "Did Deacon Mason tell you that you could have him to run your errands?" inquired Mandy, with a pout. "Guess the best thing I can do,'' said Strout rising, "is to go hunt Pettengill up myself." THAT CITY FELLEE. 55 "I guess you've struck it right this time," assented Miandy, as Strout left the room and started for the wood- shed. As he closed the door, Mandy resumed her singing as though such conversations were of everyday occurrence. She finished her work at the sink and was fixing the kitchen fire when Hiram returned. "All I could find," said he, holding an egg in each hand. "The hens must have struck or think it's a holiday. S'pose there's any out in the barn? Come, let's go look, Mandy. Where's old Strout?" "I guess he's gone to look for Mr. Pettengill," replied Mandy, with a laugh. "I kinder thought ihe wo'uld if I stayed long enough," •said Hiram, with a grin; "but come along, Mandy, no hen fruit, no puiddin'." "'Mr. Maxwell," said Mandy, soberly, "I wish you'd be more particular about your language. You know I abom- inate slang. You know how careful I try to be." "You're a dandy," said Hiram, taking her hand. They ran as far as the wood-shed, when seeing the door open, they hid behind it until Strout came out and walked down towards the lane to meet Ezekiel, whom he had seen coming up from the road. Then Hiram and Mandy sped on their way to the barn, which they quickly reached and were soon upon the haymow, apparently searching intently for eggs. When Strout reached Ezekiel he shook hands with him and said, "Come up to the barn, Pettengill, I've got a little somethin' I want to tell you and it's kinder private. It's about that city feller that's swellin' round here puttin' on airs and tryin' to make us think that his father is a bigger man than George Washington. He about the same as told me down to the grocery store that the blood of all the Quincys flowed in one arm and the blood of all the Adamses 56 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. in the Other, but I kinder guess that the rest of his carcass is full of calf's blood and there's more fuss and feathers than fight to him." By this time they had reached the barn and they sat down upon a pile of hay at the foot of the mow. "Now my plan's this," said Strout. "You know Bob Wood; well, he's the biggest feller and the best fighter in town. I'm goin' to post Bob up as to how to pick a quar- rel with that city feller. When he gets the lickin' that he deserves, I rayther think that Deacon Mason will lose a boarder." "But s'posin' Mr. Sawyer hcks Bob Wood?" queried Ezekiel. "Oh! I don't count much on that," said Strout; "but if it should turn out that way we're goin' to turn in and get up a surprise party for Miss Mason and jist leave him out." "I hope you ain't goin' to do any fightin' down to Deacon M'ason's?" remarked Ezekiel. "Oh, no !" protested Strout, "it'll be kind o' quiet, under- minin' work, as it were. Remarks and sayin's and side whispers and odd looks, the cold shoulder business, you know, that soon tells a feller that his company ain't appreciated." "Well, I don't think that's quite fair," said Ezekiel. "You don't like him, Mr. Strout, but I don't think the whole town will take it up." The Professor said sternly, "He has insulted me and in doing that he has insulted the whole town of East- borough." A smothered laugh was heard. "By George! What was that?" cried Strout. Ezekiel was at a loss what to say, and before he could reply, Mandy's laughing had caused the hay to move. As it began to slide she clutched at Hiram in a vain efifort to save herself, and the next instant a large pile of hay, bear- THAT CITY FELLER. 57 ing Hiram and Mandy, came down, falling upon Ezekiel and Strout and covering them from sight. When all had struggled to their feef, Ezekiel turnied to Mandy and said sharply, "What were you doin' up there, Mandy?" "Looking for eggs," said she, as she ran out of the barn and started for the house. Fliram stood with his mouth distended with a huge smile. Strout turned towards him and said savagely, "Well, if you're the only egg she got, 'twas a mighty bad one." Hiram retorted, "I would rather be called a bad egg than somethin' I heard about you." Strout, in a passion, cried out, "Who said anything about me>" Hiram made for the barn door and then said, "heard a gentleman say as how there was only one jackass in East- borough and he taught the singin' school." Strout caught up a rake to throw at him, but Hiram was out of sight before he could carry out his purpose. Turn- ing to Ezekiel, Strout said, "I bet a dollar, Pettengill, it was that city feller that said that, and as I have twice re- marked and this makes three times, this town ain't big enough to hold both on us." iCHAPTER VIII. CITY SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. HIRAM MAXWELL was not called upon to' perform very arduous duties at Deacon Mason's. The Dea- con had given up farming several years before, and Hiram's duties consisted in doing the chores about the house. He had plenty of spare time, and he used it by going down to the Pettengill place and talking to Mandy Skinner. The next morning after the adventure in the barn, Hiram went down as usual after his morning's work was done to see Mandy. "How do you find things, Mandy?" said Hiram, opening the kitchen door and putting his head in. "By looking for them," said Mandy, without looking up from her work. "You are awful smart, ain't you?" retorted Hiram. IMiandy replied, "People's opinion that I think a good deal more of than yours have said that same thing, Mr. Max- well." iHiram saw that he was worsted, so he changed the con« versation. "Anybody to hum?" Mandy answered sharply, "Everybody's out but me, of course I am nobody.'' Hiram came in and closed the door. "You needn't be so pesky smart with your tongue, Mandy. Of course I can't keep up with you and you know it. .What's up?" CITY SKILL VERSUS COUKTET MUSCLE. 59 iMandy replied, "TKe thermometer. It isn't nearly as cold as it was yesterday." Hiram, seeing a breakfast apparently laid out on a side table inquired, "Expectin' somebody to breakfast?" "No," said Mandy, "I got that ready for Mr. Pettengill, but he didn't have time to eat it because he was afraid he would lose the train.'' "Has he gone to the city?" asked Hiram. "I 'spect he has," answered Mandy. "Well," remarked Hiram, "s'posin' I eat that breakfast myself, so as to save you the trouble of throwin' it away." "Well," said Mandy, "I was going to give it to the pigs; I suppose one hog might as well have it as another." Hiram' said, "Why, you don't call me a big eater, do you, Mandy?" Mandy laughed and said, "I can't tell, I never saw you when you wasn't hungry. How do you know when you have got enough?" Hiram said, "I haven't got but one way of tellin', I alius eats till it hurts me, then I stop while the pain lasts." Then he asked Mandy, "What did 'Zekiel go to the city for?" Mandy answered, "Mr. Pettengill does not confide his private business to me." Hiram broke in, "I bet a dollar you know why he went, just the same." Mandy said, "I bet a dollar I do." Then she broke into a loud laugh. Hiram evidently thought it was very funny and laughed until the tears stood in his eyes. "What are you laughing for?" asked Mandy. Hiram's countenance fell. "Come down to the fine point, Mandy, durned if I know." "That's a great trick of yours, Hiram," said Mandy. 60 QUINOY ADAMS SAWYER. "You ought not to laugh at anything' unless you under- stand it."" "I guess I wouldn't laugh much then," said Hiram. "I alius laugh when I don't understand anythin', so folks won't think that I don't know where the p'int comes in. But say, Mandy, what did Pettengill go to the city for?" During this conversation Hiram had been eating the breakfast that had been prepared for Ezekiel. Mandy sat down near him and said, "I'll tell you, but it ain't nothing to laugh at. Mr. Pettengill had a telegraph message come last night.'' "You don't say so!" said Hiram. "It must be pretty important for persons to spend money that way. Nobody dead, I s'pose?" "Well," said Mandy, "Mr. Pettengill left the telegram in his room and I had to read it to see whether I had to throw it away or not, and I remember every word that was in it." Hiraim asked earnestly, "Well, what was It? Is his sis- ter Alice goin' to get married?" 'Mandy answered, "No, she is sick and she wanted him to come right up to Boston at once to see her." Hiram said, " 'Zekiel must think a powerful lot of that sister of his'n. Went right off to Boston without his break- fast." "I guess it would have to be somethimg nearer than a sister to make you do that," said Mandy. "I don't know but one thing, Hiram, that would make you go without your feed." "What's that, Mandy?" said he. "You?" "No," replied Mandy, "a famine." "You ain't no sort of an idea as to what's the matter with her, have you?" he asked. "No, I haven't," said Mandy, "and if I had I don't im- agine I would tell you. Now you better run right home. CITT SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 61 little boy, for I have to go upstairs and do the chamber work." She whisked out of the room, and Hiram, helping himself to a couple of apples, left the house and walked slowly along the road towards Eastborough Centre. Suddenly he espied a man coming up the road and soon saw it was Quincy Adams Sawyer. "Just the feller I wanted to see," soliliquized Hiram, As Quincy reached him he said, "Mr. Sawyer, I want to speak to you a minute or two. Come into Pettengill's barn, there's nobody to hum but Mandy and she's upstairs makin' the beds." They 'entered the barn and sat down on a couple of half barrels that served for stools. "Mr. Sawyer, you've treated me fust rate since you've been here and I want to do you a good turn and put you on your guard." Quincy laughed. iHiram continued, "Well, maybe you won't laugh if Bob Wood tackles you. I won't tell you how I found ,it out for I'm no eavesdropper, but keep your eye on Bob Wood and look out he don't play no mean tricks on you." Quincy remarked, "I suppose Mr. Strout is at the bottom of this and he has hired this Bob Wood to do what he can't do himself." "I guess you have got it about right, M^r. Sawyer," said H'iram. "Can you fight?" he asked of Quincy. "I am a good shot with a rifle," Quincy replied. "I can hit the ace of hearts at one hundred feet with a pistol." "I don't mean that," said Hiram. "Can you fight with yer fists?" "I don't know much about it," said Quincy with a queer smile. 'Then I am afraid you will find Bob Wood a pretty tough customer. He can lick any two fellers in town. Why, 62 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. he polished off Cobb's twins one day in less than five min- utes, both of 'em." "Where does this Bob Wood spend most of his time?" asked Quincy. "He loafs around Hill's grocery. When he ain't wokin' at his trade," said Hiram, "he does odd jobs for the Put- nams in summer and cuts some wood for them in winter. You know Lindy Putnam., the gal you sang with at the concert?" ''Come along," said Quincy, "I feel pretty good this morning, we'll walk down bo Hill's and see if that Mt. Wood has anything to say to me." "Don't you think the best plan, 'Mr. Sawyer, would be to keep out of his way?" queried Hiram. "Well, I can't tell that," said Quincy, "until I get better acquainted with him. After that he may think he'd better keep out of my way." "Why, he's twice as big as you,'' cried Hiram, with a look of astonishment on his face. "Come along, Hkam," said Quincy. "By the way, I haven't seen Miss Putnam since the concert. I think I will have to call on her." Hiram laughed until his face was as red as a beet. "By gum, that's good," he said, as be struck both legs with his hands. "What's good?" asked Quincy. "Calling on Miss Put- nam?" "Yes," said Hiram. "Wouldn'^t she be s'prised?" "Why?" asked Quincy. "Such a call wouldn't be con- sidered anything out of the way in the city." "No, nor it wouldn't here," said Hiram, "but lor the fact that Miss Putnam don't encourage callers. She goes round a visitin' herself ,and she treats the other girls fust rate, 'cause she has plenty of money and can afford it. But she has got two good reasons for not wantin' visitors." CITY SKILL VEESUS COUNTKr MUSCLE. 63 "What are they?" asked Quincy. "Well, I'm country myself," said Hiram, "and there are Others in Eastborough that are more country than I am. But if you want to see and hear the genooine old Rubes you want to see old Sy Putnam and his wife Heppy." "But Miss Mason said Miss Putnam, was quite wealthy." "You bet she is," said Hiram. "She's worth hundreds of millions of dollars." "I think you must mean thousands," remarked Quincy. "Well, as far as I'm concerned," said Hiram, "when you talk about millions or thousands of money, one's just the same to me as t'other. I never seed so much money in my life as I seed since you've been here, but I don't want you to think I'm beggin' for more." "No," said Quincy, "I should never impute such a motive to you." Quincy took a dollar bill from his pocket and held it up (before Hiram. "What's that?" he asked. "That's one hundred cents," said Hiram, "considerably more than I have got." "Well," said Quincy, "if you tell me why Miss Putnam doesn't like callers I will give you that dollar." "Stop a minute," replied Hiram. "Soon as we turn this next corner we'll be dn full sight of the groceiy store. You can go ahead and I'll slip 'cross lots and come up from behind the store. If Wood thought I'd told you he would lick me and I'm no fighter. Now about Miss Putnam," dropping his voice, "I heard it said, and I guess it's pretty near the truth, that she is so blamed stuck up and dresses so fine in city fashions that she is just 'shamed of her old pa and ma and don't want nobody to see 'em." "But," asked Quincy, "where did she get her money?" Hiram answered, "From her ' only brother. He went down to Boston, made a pile of money, then died and left 64 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. it all to Lindy. If what I've told you ain't gospel truth it's mighty near it. Well, I'll see you later, Mr. Sawyer." And Hiram ran down a path that led across the fields. Quincy turned the corner and walked 'briskly towards Hill's grocery store. A dozen or more young men and as many older ones were lounging about the platform that ran the whole length of the store, for it was a very mild day in January, and the snow was rapidly leaving under the influence of what might be called a January thaw. Quincy walked through the crowd, giving a friendly nod to several faces t'hat looked familiar, but the names of whose owners were unknown to him. He entered the store, found a letter from his mother and another from his sister Gertie, and saying "Good morning" to Mir. Hill, who was the village postmaster, soon reached the platform again. As he did so a heavily built young fellow, fully six feet tall and having a coarse red face,^ stepped up to him and said brusquely, "I believe your name's Sawyer." "Your belief is well founded," repHed Quincy. "I regret that I do not know your name." "Well, you won't have to suffer long before you find out," said the fellow. "My name's Robert Wood, or Bob Wood for short." "Ah! I see," said Quincy. "Robert for long wood and Bob for short wood." Wood's face grew redder. "I s'pose you think that's mighty smart makin' fun of folks' names. I guess there ain't much doubt but what you said what a friend of mine tells me you did." Quincy remarked calmly, "Well, what did your friend say I said about you?" By this time the loungers in and outside the store had gathered around the two talkers. Wood seemed encour- aged and braced up by the presence of so many friends. He walked up close to Quincy and said, "Well, my friend CITY SKILL VEESUS COUNTRY MUSCLE. 65 told me that you said there was but one jackass in East- borough and he sang bass in the quartette." Quincy palled a little, but replied firmly, "I never said it, and if your friend says I did he lies and he knows it." At this juncture, as if prearranged, Obadiah Strout sud- denly emerged from the grocery store. "What's the matter, gentlemen?" asked Mr. Strout. "Well," said Wood, "I told this young man what you said he said, and he says you're a liar.'' "Well,'' said Strout pompously, "I know that he said it and I have witnesses to prove it. When you settle with him for calUng you a jackass I'll settle with him for calling me a liar." "Take your coat oiT, Mr. Sawyer, and get ready. I won't keep you waitin' but a few moments," said Bob. A jeering laugh went up from the crowd. Quincy, turn- ing, saw Hiram. "Here, Hiram,'' said he, "hold my things." He took off his overcoat and then his black Prince Albert coat and passed them to Hiram. Then he removed his hat, which he also handed to Hiram. Turning to Wood he said, "Come right out here, Mr. Wood; here is a place where the sun has kindly removed the snow and we can get a good footing." Wood followed him, and the crowd formed a ring about them. "Now, Mr. Wood, or perhaps I should say Bob Wood for short, put up your hands." Bob put them up in defiance of all rules governing box- ing. This was enough for Quincy; he had sized up his man and determined to make the most of his opportunity. "Mr. Wood," he said politely, "before I hit you I am going to tell you just exactly where I am going to strike, so you can't blame me for anything that may happen. I shall commence on your right eye." 66 QUINCY ABAMS SAWYER. Wood's face grew livid; he made a rush at Quincy as though he would fall on him and crush him. Quincy easily eluded him, and when Wood made his second rush at him he parried a right-hander, and before Wood could recover, he struck him a square blow full on his right eye. They faced each other again. "Now, Mr. Wood," said Quincy, "I see you have a watch in your vest pocket. Is it an open-faced watch?" "S'posin' you find out," said Wood, glaring at Quincy with his left eye, his right one being closed up. "Well, then," remarked Quincy, "you will be obliged to have it repaired, for I am going to hit you just where that watch is and it may injure it." Wood was more wary this time and Quincy was more scientific. He gave Wood a left-hander in the region of the heart which staggered him. They faced each other for the third time. "I regret the necessity this time, but I will be obliged to strike you full in the face and in my excitement may hit your nose." It required all of Quincy's dexterity to avoid the wild rushes and savage thrusts made by Wood. But Quincy understood every one of the boxer's secrets and was as light and agile on his feet as a cat. It was three minutes at least before Quincy got the desired opening, and then he landed a blow on Wood's nose that sent him flat upon his back. "That's enough," cried the crowd, and several friends led Wood to a seat on the platform. Quincy turned to Strout. "Now, Mr. Strout, I am at your service.'' "No, sir," said Strout, "I am willing to fight a gentle- man, but I don't fight with no professional prize fighter like you." Turning to the crowd: "I know all about this fellow. He is no lawyer at all, he is a regular prize fighter. Aod then he landed a blow on Wood's nose. CITY SKILL VERSUS COUNTRY MUSCLK 67 and down in Boston he is known by the name of Billy Shanks." Quincy smiled. Turning to the crowd he said, "The statement just made hy Mr. Strout is like his statement to Mr. Wood. The first was a lie, the second is a lie, and the man who uttered them is a liar. Good morning, gentle- men." Quincy went to Hiram, who helped him on with his coats. They walked along together. After they turned the corner and got out of sight of the grocery store, Hiram said: "Geewhilikins! What a smasher you gave him. I thought you said you didn't know nothin' about fightin'." "I don't know much," responded Quincy. "There are a dozen men in Boston who could do to me just exactly what I did to Bob Wwd." CHAPTER IX. MR. SAWYER CALLS ON MISS PUTNAM. QUINCY had a double purpose in calling on Lindy; he actually wished to see her, for they had not met since the concert, but his principal wish was to meet a real old-fashioned country couple. To be sure. Deacon Mason and his wife often dropped into the vernacular, but the Deacon was a very dignified old gentleman and his wife was not a great talker. What he desired was to find one of the old-fashioned style of country women, with a tongue hung in the middle and running at 'both ends. His wish was to be gratified. When he clanged the old brass knocker on the door, Samanthy Green answered the call. "Is Miss Putnam at home?" asked Quincy politely. "No, she ain't," said Samanthy, "but Mr. and Mrs. Put- nam is. They're alius to hum. They don't go nowheres from one year's end to t'other." "I would like to see them," said Quincy. "Yes, sir," said Samanthy, "walk right in." She threw open the door of the sitting-room. "Here's a gentleman that wants to see you, Mis' Putnam. Least- wise he asked for Lindy fust." Samanthy left the room, slamming the door after her. "My name is Sawyer," said Quincy, addressing the old lady and gentleman who were seated in rocking chairs. "I met your daughter at the concert given at the Town Hall New-Year's night." Mrs. Putnam said, "Glad to see ye, Mr. Sawyer; have a chair." MR. SAWYER CALLS ON MISS PUTNAM. 69 As Quincy laid his hand upon the chair, the old gentle- man called out in a voice that would have startled a bull of Bashan, "What's his name, Heppy?" Mrs. Putnam answered in a shrill voice with an edge like a knife, "Sawyer." "Sawyer!" yelled the man. "Any relation to Jim Saw- yer that got drunk, beat his wife, starved his children, and finally ended up in the town Poorhouse?" Quincy shook his head and replied, "I think not. I don't live here; I live in Boston." "Du tell," said Mrs. Putnam. "How long you been here?" Quincy replied that he arrived two days after Christmas. "Where be you stoppin'?" asked Mrs. Putnam. Quincy answered, "I am boarding at Deacon Mason's." "He's a nice old gentleman," said Mrs. Putnam, "and 'Mrs. Mason's good as they make 'em. Her daughter Htildy's a pert young thing, she's pretty and she knows it." Quincy remarked that he thought Miss Mason was a very nice young lady. "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Putnam, "you young fellers never look more than skin deep. Now the way she trifles with that young 'Zekiel Pettengill I think's shameful. They ust to have a spat every week about somethin', but they alius made it up. But I heard Lindy say that after you come here, 'Zeke he got huffy and Huldy she got independent, and they hain't spoke to each other nigh on two weeks." This was a revelation to Quincy, but be was to hear more about it very soon. "How long be you goin' to stay, Mr. Sawyer?" "I haven't decided," said Quincy. "What's your business?" persisted Mrs. Putnam. "I am a lawyer," replied Quincy. _ ^ Mrs. Putnam looked at bim inquiringly and said, "Ben t you rather young for a lawyer? How old be you, anyway?" 70 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. Quincy decided to take a good humored part in his cross examination and said without a smile, "I am twenty-three years, two months, sixteen days old." "Be you?" exclaimed Mrs. Putnam. "I shouldn't have said you were a day over nineteen.'' Quincy never felt his youth so keenly before. He deter- mined to change the conversation. "Did you attend the concert, Mrs. Putnam?" "No," said she. "Pa and me don't go out much; he's deefer'n a stone post and I've had the rheumatiz so bad in my knees for the last five years that I can't warlk without crutches;" and she pointed to a pair that lay on the floor beside her chair. During this conversation old Mr. Putnam had been eying Quincy very keenly. He blurted out, "He's a chip of the old block, Heppy; he looks just as Jim did when he fust came to this town. Did yer say yer had an Uncle Jim?" Quincy shook his head. Mrs. Putnam turned to her husband and yelled, "Now you shet up, Silas, and don't bother the young man. Jim Sawyer ain't nothin' to be proud of, and I don't blame the young man for not ownin' up even if Jim is his uncle." Quincy made another attempt to change the conversa- tion. "Your daughter is a very fine singer, Mrs. Putnam." "Well, I s'pose so," said she; "there's been enough money spent on her to make suthin' of her. As for me I don't like this folderol singin'. Why, when she ust to be practisin' I had to go up in the attic or else stuflf cotton in my ears. But my son, Jehoiakim Jones Putnam, he sot everythin' by Lucinda, and there wasn't anythin' she wanted that she couldn't have. He's dead now, but he left more'n a hundred thousand dollars, that he made specu- latin'." "Then your daughter will be quite an heiress one of these days, Mrs. Putnam?" MR. SAWYER CALLS ON MISS PUTKAM. 71 She answered, "She won't get none of my money. Jehoiakim left her all of his'n, but before she got it she had to sign a paper, a wafer, I believe they call it, if you're a lawyer you ought to know what it was, givin' up all claim on my money. I made my will and the girl who'll get it needs it and will make good use of it." Quincy determined to get even with Mrs. Putnam for the questioning she put him through, so he said, "Did you make your money speculating, Mrs. Putnam?" "No," said she, "pa made it by hard work on the farm; but he gave it all to me more'n fifteen year ago, and he hasn't got a cent to his name. He's just as bad off as Jim Sawyer. I feed him and clothe him and shall have to bury him. I guess it seems kinder odd to ye, so I reckon I'll have to tell ye the hull story. I've told it a dozen times, but I guess it'll bear tellin' once more. You see my hus- band here, Silas Putnam, was brought up religis and he's alius been a churchgoin' man. We were both Methodists, and everythin' went all right till one day a Second Advent preacher came along, and then things went all wrong. He canoodled my husband into believin' that the end of the world was comin' and it was his duty to give a-11 his prop- erty away, so he could stand clean handed afore the Lord. My dander riz when I heerd them makin' their plans, but afore my husband got deef he was great on argifyin' and argumentin', and I didn't stand much show againsttwo on 'em; but when Silas told me he was goin' to give his prop- erty away I sot up my Ebenezer, and I says, 'Silas Putnam, if you gives your property to any one you gives it to me.' So after a long tussle it was settled that way and the lawyers drew up the papers. The night afore the world was goin' to end he prayed all night. You can imagine with that air voice of his'n I didn't sleep a wink. When mornin' came — it was late in October and the air was pretty sharp — Silas stopped prayin' and put on his white robe, which was a 72 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. shirt of hisn't I pfeced out so it came down to his feet, and takin' a tin trumpet that he bought over to Eastborough Centre, he went out, climbed up on the barn, sot down on the ridgepole and waited for Kingdom Come. He sot there and tooted all momin' and 'spected the angel Gabriel would answer back. He sot there and tooted all the arter- noon till the cows come home and the chickens went to roost. I had three good square meals that day, but Silas didn't get a bite. 'Bout six o'clock I did think of takin' him out some doughnuts, but then I decided if he was goin' up so soon it was no use a wastin' em, so -I put 'em back in ■the pantry. He sot there and tooted all the evenin' till the moon come up and the stars were all out, and then he slid down off'n the barn, and barked both his shins doin' it, threw his trumpet into the pig pen, come into the house and huddled up close to the fire. He didn't say nothin' for a spell, but finally says he, 'I guess, Heppy, that feller made a mistake in iigurin' out the date.' 'I guess, Silas,' says I, 'that you've made an all-fired fool of yerself. And if you don't go to bed quick and take a rum sweat, I shall be a widder in a very s'hort time.' He was sick for more'n three weeks, but I pulled him through by good nussin', and the fust day he was able to set up, I says to him, 'Now, Silas Putnam, when I married ye forty-five year ago I promised to obey ye, ,ye was alius a good perwider and I don't per- pose to. see yer want for nothin', but ye have got to hold up yer right hand and swear to obey me for the rest of yer nateral life,' and he did it. He got well, and he is tougher'n a biled owl, if he is eighty-six. But the cold sorter settled in his ears, and he's deef as an adder. Ef angel Gabriel blew his horn now I'm afeared Silas wouldn't hear him." During this long story Quincy had listened without a smile on his face, but the manner in which the last remark was made was too much for him and he burst into a loud laugh. Silas, who had been eying him, also gave a loud ' He sot there and tooted all mornin'. ' MR. SAWYER CALLS ON MISS PUTNAM. 73 laugh and said with his ponderous voice, "I guess Heppy's been tellin' ye about my goin' up." Quincy laughed again and Mrs. Putnam took part. He arose, told Mr. and Mrs. Putnam he had enjoyed his visit very much, was very sorry Miss Putnam was not at home, and said he would call again, with their kind permission. "Oh, drop in any time," said Mts. Putnam; "we're alius to hum. You seem to be a nice young man, but you're too young to marry. Why, Lindy's twenty-eight, and I tell her she don't know enough to get married yet. Ef you'll take a bit of advice from an old woman, let me say, 'less you mean to marry the girl yourself, you'd better git away from Deacon Mason's." And with this parting shot ringing in his ears, he left the house and made his way homeward. In half an hour after Quincy's departure, Lindy Putnam entered the sitting-room and facing her mother said with a voice full of passion, "Samanthy says Mr. Sawyer called to see me." Mrs. Putnam answered, "Well, ef ye wanted to see him so much why didn't ye stay to hum?" Lindy continued, "Well, I have told you a dozen times that when people come to see me that you are not to invite fhem in." "Wall, I didn't," said Mrs. Putnam. "When he found you wuz out he said he wanted to see pa and me, and he stayed here more'n an hour." "Yes," said Lindy, "no doubt you told him all about pa's turning Second Advent and how much money I had, and you have killed all my chances." "Well, I guess not," said Mrs. Putnam. "I told him about your brother leavin' yer all his money, and I guess that won't drive 'him away." Lindy continued, "Money don't count with him; they say his father is worth more than a million dollars." 74 QUmCY ADAMS SAWTER. Mrs. Putnam answered, "Wall, I s'pose there's a dozen or so to divide it among." Lindy said, "Did you tell him who you were going to leave your money to?" "No, I didn't," replied Mrs. Putnam. "But I did tell him that you wouldn't get a cent of it." Lindy sobbed, "I think it is a shame, mother. I like him better than any young man I have ever met, and now after what you have told me I sha'n't see him again. I have a good mind to leave you for good and all and go to Boston to live." "Wall, you're your own mistress," replied Mrs. Putnam, "and I'm my own mistress and pa's. Come to think on't, there was one thing I said to him that might sot him against yer." "What was that?" demanded Lindy fiercely. "Wall," said Mrs. Putnam, "he said he was twenty-three, and I sort a told him incidentally you was twenty-eight. You know yer thirty, and p'raps he might object to ye on account of yer age." This was too much for Lindy. She rushed out of the room and up to her chamber, where she threw herself on her bed in a passion of tears. "It's too bad," she cried. "I will see him again, I will find some way, and I'll win him yet, even if I am twenty- eight." Two days afterwards Hiram told Mandy that he heard down to Hill's grocery that that city chap had two strings to his bow now. He was courting the Deacon's daughter, but had been up to see Mr. and Mrs. Putnam to find out how much money Lindy had in her own right, and to see if there was any prospect of 'getting anything out of the old folks. CHAPTER X. VILLAGE GOSSIP. AFTER supper on the day he had been visiting Mr. and Mrs. Putnam, Quincy went to his room and wrote a long letter to his father, inquiring if he ever had an uncle by the name of James Sawyer. Before retiring he sat and thought over the experiences of the pasit fortnight since his arrival in Eastborough, but the most of his thoughts were given to the remark made by Mrs. Putnam about his leaving Deacon Mason's. He had been uniformly polite and to a slight degree attentive to Miss Mason. The Dea- con's horse was a slow one, and so on several occasions he had hired a presentable rig and a good stepper over to Eastborough Centre, and had taken Miss Mason out to ride. He reflected now, as he had never done before, that of course the whole town knew this, and the thought came home to him strongly that by so doing he might have in- flicted a triple injury upon Miss Mason, Mr. Pettingill, and himself. He was not in love with Miss Mason, nor Miss Putnam ; they were both pretty girls, and in 'the city it was the custom to be attentive to pretty girls without regard to consequences. He had asked Miss Mason to go riding with him the next day, but he inwardly resolved that it would be the last time he would take her, and he was in doubt whether to go back to the city at once or go to some other town and board at a hotel, or look around and find some other place in East- borough. One consideration kept him from leaving 76 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. Eastborough; he knew that if he did so the singing-master would claim that he had driven him out of town, and although he had a hearty contempt for the man, he was too high spirited to leave town and give the people any reason to think that Strout's antipathy to him had anything to do with it. Finally a bright idea struck him. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He would go and see Uncle Ike, state the case frankly and ask him to let him live with him for a month. He could 'bunk in the kitchen, and he pre- ferred Uncle Ike's conversation to that of any other of the male sex whom he had met in Eastborougti. With this idea firmly fixed in his mind he retired and slept peacefully. While Quinoy was debating with himself and coming to the conclusion previously mentioned, another conversation, in which his name often occurred, took place in Deacon Mason's kitchen. The old couple were seated by the old-fashioned fireplace, in Which a wood fire was burning. The stove had super- seded the hanging crane and the tin oven for cooking pur- poses, 'but Deacon Mason clung to the old-fashioned fire- place for heat and light. The moon was high and its rays streamed in through the windows, the curtains of which had not been drawn. For quite a w'hile they sat in silence, then Deacon Mason said, 'There is something I want to speak about, mother, and yet I don't want to. I know there is nothing to it and nothing likely to come of it, but the fact is, mother, Huldy's bein' talked about down to the Corner, 'cause Mr. Sawyer is boardin' here. You know she goes out ridin' with him, which ain't no harm, and she has a sort o' broken with 'Zekiel, for which I am sorry, for 'Zekiel is one of the likely young men of the town." "So I do, father," said Mrs. Mason, "andjf you don't meddle, things will come out all right. Mr. Sawyer don't VILLAGE GOSSIP. 77 care nothing for Huldy, and I don't think she cares any- thing for him. He will be going back to the city in a little wliile and then things will be all right again." "Well," said the Deacon, "I think Huldy better stop goin' out to ride with him anyway; she is high spirited, and if I tell her not to go she'll want to know why." "But," broke in Mrs. Mason, "ef you tell him won't he want to know why?" "Well, perhaps," said the Deacon, "but I will speak to him anyway." The next morning after 'breakfast Deacon Mason asked Mr. Sawyer to step into the parlor, and remarking that when he had anything to say he always said it right out, he asked Quincy if he was on good terms with Mt. 'Zekiel Pettengill. "I don't know," said Quincy. "I don't know of anything that I have done at which he could take offence, but he keeps away from me, and when I do meet him and speak to him, a 'yes' or 'no' is all I get in reply.'' "Haven't you any idea what makes him treat you so?" asked the Deacon. Quincy flushed. , "Yes, Mr. Mason, I think I do know, but it never en- tered my mind until late yesterday afternoon, and then it was called to my attention by a stranger. I am glad I have this chance to speak to you, Mr. Mason, for while I have had a very enjoyable time here, I have decided to find another boarding place, and I shall leave just as soon as I make the necessary arrangements." The Deacon was a little crestfallen at having the business taken out of his hands so quickly, and saying he was very sorry to have the young man go, he sought his wife and told her everything was fixed up and that Mh Sawyer was going away. Quincy started to leave the house by the front door; in 78 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. the hallway he met Huldy, who had just come down stairs. He had asked her to go to ride with him that day, and as he looked at her pretty face he vowed to himself that he would not be deprived of that pleasure. It could do no harm, for it would be their last ride together and probably their last meeting. He said, "Good morning, Miss Mason," and then added with that tone which the society belle considers a matter of course, but which is so pleasing -to the village maiden, "You look charming this morning. Miss Mason. I don't think our ride to-day could make your cheeks any redder than they are now." Huldy blushed, making her cheeks a still deeper crimson. "I will be here at one o'clock with the team," said Quincy. "Will you be ready?" "Yes,'' answered Huldy softly. Quincy raised his hat, and a moment later he was on his way to Eastborough Centre. He walked briskly and thought he would stop at Uncle Ike's and carry out the resolution he had made the night before, but as he turned up the path that led to the house he saw a man standing on the steps talking to Uncle Ike, who stood in the doorway. The young man was Ezekiel Pet- tengill. Shakespeare says, " 'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all," and although Quincy at heart was a gentleman, he also knew it was not quite right for him to take Miss M'ason out riding again under the circumstances; but young men are often stubborn and Quincy felt a little stifif-necked and rebellious that morning. Be reached Eastborough Centre, mailed his father the letter relating to Jim- Sawyer, and going to the stable, picked out the best rig it could supply. He always had the same horse. It was somewhat small in size, but a very- plump, white mare; she was a good roadster and it was never necessary to touch her with the whip. Shake it in VILLAGE GOSSIP. - 79 the stock and she would not forget it for the next two miles. The stable keeper told with much unction how two fellows hired her to go from Eastborough Centre to' Montrose. On their, way home they had drunk quite freely at the latter place, and thought they would touch the mare up with the whip; they were in an open team .and the result was that she left them at dififerent points along the road and reached home with no further impediment to her career than the shafts and the front wheels. ' Instead of coming back by the main road which led by Uncle Ike's, Quincy went through by what was called The Willows, which increased the distance a couple of miles. Nevertheless, it lacked five minutes of one o'clock when he drove up to Deacon Mason's front door. Huldy was all dressed for the occasion, and with a "Good- ty, mother," to Mrs. Mason, who was in the kitchen, was out the front door, helped into the team, and they were off just as the startled matron reached the parlor window. Mrs. Mason returned to the kitchen and at that moment the Deacon came in from the barn. "Wliat's the matter, mother?" asked the Deacon, noticing her excited and somewhat troubled look. . "Huldy is gone out riding again with Mr. Sawyer," said she. The Deacon was a good Christian man and didn't swear, 'but he was evidently thinking deeply. Finally he said, "Well, mother, we must make the best of it. I'll help him find a boarding place if he don't get one by to-morrow." Tlhey had a splendid drive. The air was cool, but not biting, the sun was warm, the roads had dried up since the recent thaw, which had removed the snow, with the excep- tion of some patches in the fields, and the high-topped buggy rolled smoothly over the ground. They passed through the little square in front of Hill's grocery, and as luck would have it. Professor Strout was 80 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. standing on the platform smoking a oigar. Hu'ldy smiled and nodded to him, and Quincy, with true politeness, fol- lowed a city custom and raised his hat, but the Professor did not return the bow, nor the salute, but turning on his heel walked into the grocery store. "Professor Strout is not very polite, is he, Mt. Sawyer?" asked Huldy, laughing. Quincy replied, looking straight ahead, "He has never learned the first letter in the alphabet of the art." Quincy had a disagreeable duty to perform. He enjoyed Miss Huldy's company, but she was not the sort of girl he could love enough to make his wife. Then the thought came to him, supposing she should fall in love with him; that was not impossible, and it must be prevented. When they were about half a mile from Mason's Corner, on their way home, Quincy realized that he could not put the matter off any longer. Just as he was going to speak to her she turned to him and said, "Let me drive the rest of the way home, Mr. Sawyer." "Oh, no," replied Quincy, "I think I had better keep the reins. You know I am responsible for you until you are safe at home." Huldy pouted. "You think I can't drive," said she, "I have driven horses all my life. Please let me, Mr. Sawyer," she added coaxingly. And she took the reins from his hands. "Well," said Quincy, "you are now responsible for me and I shall expect you to be very careful.'' They drove a short distance in silence; then Quincy turned to her and said abruptly, "This is our last ride to- gether, Miss Mason." "Why?" inquired she with an astonished look in her face. "I am going to leave your very pleasant home to- morrow," said Quincy. VILLAGE GOSSIP. 81 The girl's cheeks paled perceptibly. "Are you going 'back to Boston?" she asked. "No, not for some time," Quincy replied, "but I have had some advice given me and I think it best to follow it." "You have been advised to leave my father's house," said she, holding the reins listlessly in her hand. Quincy said, "You won't be offended if I tell you the whole truth?" "No; why should I?" asked Huldy. As she said this she gathered up the reins and gave them a sharp pull. The white mare understood this to be a sig- nal to do some good travelling and she started oflE at a brisk trot. Quincy said, "I was told yesterday by a friend that if I was not a marrying man they would advise me to leave Deacon Mason's house at once.'' The blood shot into Huldy's face at once. He was not a marrying man and consequently he was going to leave. He did not care for her or he would stay. Then another thought struck her. Perhaps he was going away because he was afraid she would fall in love with him. As the Deacon had said, she was high spirited, and for an instant she was filled with indignation. She shut her eyes, and her heart seemed to stop its beating. She heard Quincy's voice, "Look out for the curve, Miss Mlason." She dropped the left rein and mechanically gave the right one a strong, sharp pull with both hands. Quincy grasped the reins, but it was too late. Huldy's pull on the right rein had thrown the horse almost at right angles to the buggy. The steep hill and sharp»curve in the road did the rest. The buggy stood for an instant on two wheels, then fell on its side with a crash, taking the horse oflf her feet at the same time. Huldy pitched forward as the buggy was falling, striking her left arm upon the wheel, and then fell into the road. 82 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK Quincy gave a quick leap over the dasher, falUng on the prostrate horse, and grasping her by the head, pressed it to the ground. The mare lay motionless. Quincy rushed to 'Miss Mlason and lifted her to her feet, but found her a dead weight in his arms. He looked in her face. She had evidently fainted. Her left arm hung by her side in a help- less sort of way; he touched it lightly between the elbow and shoulder. It was broken. Grasping her in bis arms he ran to the back door and burst into the kitchen where Mrs. Mlason was at work. Quincy said in quick, excited tones, "There has been an accident, Mts. Mason, and your daughter's arm is broken; she has also fainted. I will take her right to her room and put her on her bed. You can bring her out of that." Suit- ing the action to the word, he took Huldy upstairs, saying, "I will go for the doctor at once." Then he dashed down the stairs and out of the front door; as he reached the team he found Hiram standing beside it, his eyes wide open with astonishment. "Had a smash-up, Mr. Sawyer?" he asked. "How did it happen?" "All my carelessness," said Quincy. "Come, give me a lift on the buggy, quick." How it was done Quincy could never tell afterwards, but in a very short time the buggy was righted, the mare on her feet and the harness adjusted. Hiram took off his cap and began dusting the mare, whose white coat showed the dust very plainly. "Where does the nearest doctor live, Hiram?" asked Quincy. "Second house up the road you just come down," said Hiram. "The folks say he don't know much, anyway." "Well, you get him here as quick as possible," said Quincy. "I am going to Eastborough Centre to telegraph VILLAGE GOSSIP. 83 for a surgeon and a trained nurse. Can you remember that?" Quincy passed him a dollar bill. Hiram winked and said, "I guess I can," and darted off up the hill. Quincy sprang into the team and the white mare dashed forward at full speed. As he reached the Pettengill house he saw Ezekiel standing at the front gate. With difficulty he pulled the mare up, for she was greatly excited. "Mr. Pettengill," said he, "there has been a serious acci- dent. Miss Mason has been 'thrown from her carriage and her left arm is 'broken. I sent Hiram for a doctor and I am on my way to Eastborough to telegraph to Boston for a surgeon and a nurse. I shall not return to-night. Go up to the Deacon's and stay with her." As he said this the mare gave a bound forward and she never slackened pace until Eastborough Centre was reached. Quincy sent his telegram and returned the injured buggy and the horse to the stable keeper, telling him to have it repaired and he would pay the bill. He arranged to have a driver and a four-seated team ready on the arrival of the train bearing the doctor and the nurse. In about an hour he received a telegram that they would leave on the 6.05 express and would reach Eastborough Centre at 7.15. They arrived, and the hired driver, doctor, and nurse started for M'ason's Corner. The last train to Boston left at 9.20. Ten minutes before that hour the team returned with the doctor. "She is all right," he said. "Everything has been done for her, and the other doctor will write me when my services are needed again. Good night." The train dashed in and the doctor sped back to Boston. Quincy had engaged a room at the hotel, and he at once 84 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. retired to it, but not to sleep. He passed the most uncom- fortable night that had ever come to him. The next afternoon Hiram told Miandy that he heard Professor Strotit say to Robert Wood that he guessed that "accident would never have occurred if that city chap hadn't been trying to drive hoss with one hand." Mandy said, "That Strout is a mean old thing, anyway, and if you tell me another thing that he says, I'll fill your mouth full o' soft soap, or my name isn't Mandy Skinner." CHAPTER XI. SOME SAD TIDINGS. THE morning of the accident, when Quincy saw Ezekiel Pettengill standing on the steps of Uncle Ike's house, Ezekiel was the bearer of some sad tidings. He recognized Quincy as the latter started to come up the path, and saw him retrace his steps, and naturally thought, as most men would, that the reason Quincy did not come in was because he did not wish to meet him. "Who was you looking after?" asked Unde Ike, as Eze- kiel entered the room and closed the door. "I think it was Mr. Sawyer," replied Ezekiel, "on his way to Eastborough Centre." "That Mr. Sawyer," said Uncle Ike, "is a very level- headed young man. He called on me once and I like him very much. Do you know him, 'Zeke?" "Yes, I know who he is," Ezekiel answered, "but I have never been introduced to him. He nods and I nod, or I say, 'good mornin',' and he says, 'good mornin'.' " "Don't you go up to Deacon Mason's as much as you used to, 'Zeke?" asked Uncle Ike. "I thought Huldy and you were going to make a match of it." Ezekiel repHed, "Well, to be honest. Uncle Ike, Huldy and me had a little tiff, and I haven't seen her to speak to her for more than three weeks, but I guess it will all come out all right some day." "Well, you're on the right track, 'Zeke," said Uncle Ike. "Do all your fighting before you get married. But what brings you down here so early in the morning?" 86 QUISrCY ADAMS SAWYER. "I've got some bad news," replied Ezekid. "Have you heard from Alice lately?" "No," said Uncle Ike, "and I can't understand it. She hais always written to me once a fortnight, and it's a month now since I heard from her, and she has sent me a book every Christmas until this last one." "She has been very sick, Uncle Ike," said Ezekiel. "She was taken down about the middle of December and was under the doctor's care for three weeks." "Is she better?" asked Uncle Ike eagerly. "Yes, she is up again," said Ezekiel, "but she is very weak; but that ain't the worst of it," he added. "Why, what's the matter?" asked Uncle Ike. "Why didn't her friends let us know?'' "She wouldn't let them," said Ezekiel. "If it hadn't been for what the eye doctor told her she wouldn't have telegraphed to me what she did." "Well, what's the matter with her?" cried Uncle Ike almost fiercely. "Well, Uncle Ike," said Ezekiel, and the tears stood in his eyes as he said it, "our Allie is almost blind, but the eye doctor says she will get better, but it will take a very long time. She has had to give up her job, and I am going to Boston again to-morrow to bring her home to the old house." "What's the matter with her eyes?" asked Uncle Ike. "He called them cataracts," said Ezekiel, "or something like that." Uncle Ike sat down in his armchair and thought for a minute or two. "Yes," he said, "I know what they are; I have read all about them, and I know people who have had them. One was a schoolmate of mine. He was a mighty smart fellow and I felt sorry for him and used to help him- out in his SOME SAD TIDINGS. 87 Studies. I heard he had his eyes operaited on and recovered his Slight." . "Well, the doctor she has," said Ezekiel, "is agin opera- tions. He says they can be cured without them. She drops something in her eyes and blows something in them, and then the tears come, and then she sits quietly with her hands folded, thinking, I suppose, till the time comes to use the medicine again.'' "What can I do to help you?" asked Uncle Ike. "You know I always loved Aldce even better than I did my own ■children, because sihe is more lovable, I suppose. Now, 'Zeke, if you want any money for doctor's bills or anything else, I am ready to do everything in the world I can for Alice. Did she ask after me, 'Zeke?'' "Almost the first thing she said was, 'How is dear old Uncle Ike?' and then she said how glad she would be to get back to Eastborough, where she could have you to talk to. 'I am lonesome now,' she said, 'I cannot write nor read, and the time passes so slowly with no one to talk to.' " "But the poor dear girl can't walk down here to see me," said^ Uncle Ike. "That's just what I came to see you ahout," said Ezekiel. "The greatest favor you can do Alice and me is to come up to the old house and live with us for a while and be com- ipany for Alice. You can have the big front room that father and mother used to have, and Alice's room, you know, is just side of that. In a little while I shall have to be busy on the farm and poor Alice — " "Don't tjdk any more about it, 'Zeke," said Uncle Ike. "Of course I'll come. She will do me as much good as I'll do her. Send down the boys with the team to-morrow noon and I'll be all settled by the time you get back." "I'll do it," said Ezekiel. "It is very good of you. Uncle Ike, to give up your little home here that you like so much and come to live with us. I know you wouldn't do it for 88 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. anybody but Alice, and I'll leave her to thank you when she gets do«m here." Uncle Ike and Ezekiel shook hands warmly. "Don't you need any money, 'Zeke?'' asked Uncle Ike. "No," replied Ezekiel. "Alice wouldn't let me pay out a cent; she had some money saved up in the bank and she insisted on paying for everything herself. She wouldn't come home till I promised 'her I'd let her pay her board when she got able to work again." "She always was independent," said Uncle Ike, "and that was one reason why I liked her. But more than that, she is the fairest-minded and best-tempered woman I ever met in my life, and I have seen a good many." Ezekiel shook hands again with Uncle Ike, and then started off briskly with a much lighter heart than he had before the interview. Reaching home he astonished Mandy Skinner by telling her that he was going to bring his sister down from Boston and that Uncle Ike was coming to live with them for a while. "My Lord!" cried Mandy, "and do you expect me to do all this extra work?" "I don't expect nothing," said Ezekiel. "You can get old Mrs. Crowley to come and do the heavy work, and I guess you oan get along. You alius said you liked her, she was such a nice washer and ironer. She can have the little room over the ell, and I'll give you a dollar a week extra for • your trouble. Do you think you can get along, Miandy?" Mandy answered, "I know I cain with your sister all right, but if your Uncle Ike comes out here in the kitchen and tells me how to roast meat and make pies, as he did once, there will be trouble, and he may have to do all the cooking." Ezekiel smiled, but said nothing, and went off upstairs to look at the two rooms that were to be occupied 'by Uncle Ike and poor AlHe. CHAPTER XII. LOOKING FOR A BOARDING PLACE. WHEN Quincy awoke in his room at the hotel on the morning after the accident he found to his greait surprise that it was nine o'clock. He arose and dressed quickly, and after a light breakfast started off towards Uncle Ike's. Reaching the house he was astonished at the sight that met his gaze. Everything was out of place. The bed was down and the bedding tied up in bundles ; the books had been taken from the bookcase and had 'been piled up on the table. There was no fire in the stove, and the funnel was laid upon the top of it. Quincy had remembered that he had seen a pile of soot on the ground near the steps as he came up them. All of Uncle Ike's cooking utenS'ils were packed in a soap box which stood near the stove. "What's the matter, Mr. Pettengill, are you going to move?" asked Quincy. "For a time at least," replied Uncle Ike. " 'Zeke Petten- gill's sister has been struck blind and he is going to bring her down home this afternoon and I am going to live with them and be company for her. I always thought as much of Alice as if she was my own daughter, and now she is in trouble, her old uncle isn't going back on her. It isn't Ike Pettengi'll's way." "Have you seen 'Zekiel Pettengill this morning?" asked Quincy. "No, nor I didn't expect to," replied Uncle Ike. "I sup- pose he went to Bioston on the nine o'clock train and will be back on the three o'clock express." 90 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "Mr. PettengiU," said Quincy, "can you give me fifteen minutes' time for a talk?" "Well," said Uncle Ike, looking at his watch, "it will be half an hour before Cobb's twdns will be down here with the team, and I might as well listen to you as sit around and do nothing. They are coming down again 'by and by to get the chickens. I have a good mind to set the house on fire and burn it up. If I don't, I suppose some tramp will, and if I need another house like it, thank the Lord I've got money enough to build it." "No, don't burn it up, Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy. "Let it to me. I am around looking for a boarding place myself." "Why, what's the matter, what made you leave Deacon Mlason's?" "That's what I want to tell you,'' said Quincy. "Time is limited and I'll make my story short, but you are a friend of my father's, and I want you to understand the whole business." "Why, what have you teen up to?" asked Uncle Ike, opening his eyes. "Nothing," said Quincy, "and that's the trouble. When I went to Deacon Mason's nobody told me that his daugh- ter was engaged to Ezekiel Pettengill." "And she isn't," interjected Uncle Ike. "Well," said Quincy, "they have been keeping company together, but I didn't know it. Miss Mason is a pretty girl and a very pleasant one. Time hung heavily on my hands and I naturally paid her some attentions; gave her flowers and candy, and took her out to ride, but I never thought of falling in .love with her, and I am not conceited enough to think she is in love with me." "Well, I don't know," said Uncle Ike reflectively. "Per- haips she has heard your father was worth a million dollars." "No, I don't believe that," said Quincy. "Miss Mason LOOKING FOR A BOARDING PLACE. 91 is too true and honest a girl to marry a man simply for his money." "Well, I think you are right there," remarked Uncle Ike. "New Year's night," said Quincy, "at the ooncert in the Town Hall, Strout, the singing teacher, got down on me be- cause Miss Putnam and I received so much applause for singing a duet together. Then I broke his heart by whis- tling a tume for the girls and boys, and tihen again he doesn't like me because I am from the city! he hired a fellow to whip me, 'but the fellow didn't know how to box and I knocked him out very quickly. Now that Strout can't hurt me any other way he has gone to work making up lies, and the village is full of gossip about Miss Mason and me. Deacon Mason was going to talk to me about it, but I told him yesterday morning that I was going to get another boarding place, and I should have done so yesterday but for la very unfortunate accident." "Accident?" said Uncle Ike; "why, you seem to be all right." "I wish I had been the victim," said Quincy, "instead of Miss Mason. I took her out riding yesterday and the buggy got tipped over right in front of Deacon M'ason's house, and Miss Mason had her left arm broken above the elbow. I have done all I could to atone for my careless- ness, but I am afraid 'Zeke Pettengill will never forgive me. I wish, Mr. Pettengill, you would make him understand my position in the matter. I would like to be good friends with him, for I have nothing against him. He is the most gen- tlemanly young mon that I have seen in the town. I value his good opinion and I want himi to understand that I haven't intentionally done anything to wrong or injure him." Uncle Ike covered his eyes with his hands and mused for a few minutes; then he finally said, "Mr. Sawyer, I have got an idea. That fellow, Strout, thinks he runs this town. 92 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTJSK. and it would tickle him to death if he thoug'ht he made things uncomfortable for you. Then, again, I happen to know that he is sweet on Huldy Mason himself, and he would do all he could to widen the breach between 'Zeke and her. You see he isn't but forty himself, and he wouldn't mind the difference in ages at all. Now, my plan is this." Uncle Ike looked out the window 'and said, "Here comes Cobb's twins with the team. Now we will take my things up to the house, then you take the team and go up to Deacon M'ason's and get your trunk and bring it down to Pettengill's house. You will be my guest for to-night, anyway, and if I don't make things right with 'Zeke so you can stay there, I'll fix it anyway so you can stay till you get a place to suit you. Now don't say no, 'Mt .Sawyer. Your father and I are old friends and be will sort o' hold me responsible for your good treatment. I won't take no for an answer. If you have no objections, Mr. Sawyer, I wish you would keep your eye on those books when they are put into the team, for those Cobb boys handle everything as though it was a rock or a tree stump." And Uncle Ike, taking his kerosene lamp in one hand and his looking glass in the other, cried, "Come in," as one of the Cobb boys knocked on the door. CHAPTER XIII. A VISIT TO THE VICTIM. f T was not until Quincy had reached the Pettengill house *■ and helped Uncle Ike get his things in order, that he finally decided to accept Uncle Ike's offer. If he went to Eastborough Centre to live at the hotel, he knew Strout would consider he had won a victory. He had thought of going to Mr. and Mrs. Putnam about a room and board, but then he remembered Lindy, and said to himself that Miss Putnam was a pretty girl and it would be the same old story over again. Then he thought, "There won't be any danger here with a blind girl and Mandy Skinner, and if Uncle Ike can arrange matters it will be the best thing I can do." And so he drove up to Deacon Mason's with Cobb's twins, saw Mrs. Mason, went upstairs and packed his trunk quickly, and the Cobb boys drove away with it to his new, though perhaps only temporary, lodgings. When Quincy went downstairs, Mrs. Mason was in the parlor, and she beckoned to him to come in. He entered and closed the door. "I want to speak to you a few minutes," said she, "and I want to tell you first I don't blame you a bit. I know you told 'Zeke Pettengill that the tip-over was all your careless- ness, but Huldy says it ain't so. She said she was driving, thoug'h you didn't want her to, and the accident was all her fault. Now, I believe my daughter tells tJhe truth, and the Deacon thinks so too." "Well, Mrs. Mason," said Quincy, "what your daughter 94 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEE. says is partly true, but I am still to blame for allowing her to drive a horse with which she was n'O't acquainted." "That warn't the trouble, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. M&son. "Huldy told me the whole truth. You said something to her about going away. She had heard what the village gossips were saying. Huldy's got a high temper and she was so mad that she got flustrated, and that's what caused all the trouble. I like you, Mr. Sawyer, and Huldy likes you. She says you have alius 'been a perfect gentleman, and the Deacon now is awful sorry you are going, but I hope you will come and see us often while you stay at Mason's Corner." "I certainly shall, Mrs. Mason," replied Quincy. "How is Miss Mason?" "Oh, she is fust rate," said the Deacon's wife. "That doctor from the city fixed her arm all up in wihat he called a jacket, and that nurse that you sent just seems to know what Huldy wants before she can ask for it. I hear them nurses are awful expensive, and I don't think .she better stay but a day or two longer." "She can't leave till the surgeon comes from Boston and says she can go," he remarked, thinking' this was the easiest vreiy to get out of it. "Mky I see Miss Mason?" he added, "Certainly," replied Mrs. Mason. "She is in the front chamber. We moved her in there 'cause there is a fireplace in the room and the nurse objected to the wood stove that Huldy had in her room. She said it was either too hot or too cold, and that Huldy must have an even temperature." As Quincy entered the room Huldy looked up and a faint smile lighted her face. Her usually rosy cheeks showed only a faint touch of pink. 'The helpless left arm, in Its plaster of paris jacket, rested on the outside of the white quilt, the fingers on her little hand projecting beyond the covering. Quincy advanced to the bedside and took a vacant chair. A VISIT TO THE VICTIM. Q5 The nurse was sitting by the window. She glanced up at him and at Mrs! Mason, who followed close behind him, but continued the reading of her book. Quincy said lightly, as 'he reached over and took the right hand and gave it a little shake, "You're not shaking hands with the left. Miss Mason." "Nb," said Huldy, "I wish I could shake it, but nurse says it will have to stay on for .two or three weeks, and it is so heavy, Mr. Sawyer." 'Mts. iM'ason went to the nurse and whispered to her, "Don't let him stay too long." The nurse nodded and Mrs. Mason left the room. Quincy said in a low tone, ais he sat in the chair by the bedside, "Miss Mason, I can't express my sorrow for this unfortunate occurrence. Your mother says you have told her it was your fault. But I insisted it was my fault in allowing you to drive a strange horse.'' Huldy smiled. "It wasn't the horse, Mr. Sawyer," she said, and quickly changing the subject asked, "Where are you going to board now?" "Old Uncle Ike Pettengill has taken pity on me," replied Quincy, thinking he would not say anything about going to Ezekiel Pettengill's house. "But," said Huldy, " Zekiel called here this morning before he went to Boston for his sister and told me that Uncle Ike was coming to live with him. Didn't I hear them take your trunk away a little while ago?" Quincy saw it was useless to prevaricate, so he said, "My trunk was taken to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill's house.'' "I hope you and 'Zekiel will be good friends," said Huldy, with a grave look on her face. "I trust we may become so," remarked Quincy. "I am afraid we are not now, and I am still more afraid it is my fault that we are not on the best of terms." Huldy turned her face towards him, a red flush coloring 96 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. her oheeks and brow. "No,'' she said, with vehemence, "it was my fault, and you know it, 'Mir. Sawyer. How you must bate me for having caused you so much trouble." She gave a convulsive sob and burst into a flood of tears. Quincy was on the point of assuring Huldy that he could never 'hate her and that they would always be good friends, but he had no^ opportunity to frame the words. As Huldy sobbed and began to cry, the nurse jumped to rher feet, dropped -her book on the floor, and came quickly to the bedside. She said nothing, but the look upon her face conAdnced Quincy that he must wait for a miore aus- picious moment tO' declare his friendly sentiment. So with a "Good-by, Miss Mason, I'll call again soon," he quitted the apartment and left the victim to the ministra- tions of the nurse. CHAPTER XIV. A QUIET EVENING. AFTER the somewihat exciting termdnation of bis inter- view with Miss Mason, Quincy left the hous^ quickly and walked down to Ezekiel Pettengill's. Uncle Ike was there and he told M'andy to show Mr. Sawyer to his room, which proved to be the big front one upstairs. When he was alone, Quincy sank into the capacious rocking chair and fell tO' 'thinking. His mind went back to his parting with Miss Miason. She had said that it wasn't the horse, so it must have been what he said to her. Was she angry because be bad decided to go in order to stop village gossip, or bad she really oared for him? Well, it was over now. He would never know what her real feel- ings were, and after all it was best for him not to know. He would drop the whole matter where it was. Then he began to think about his present position. Here he was located in the house of the man who would naturally be considered the last one to desire his company. Uncle Ike had told him that he would make it all right. If be failed in this and Eizekiel objected to his remaining he could move again. He was determined not to leave 'Miason's Corner till he got ready, and be felt sure he would not be ready to go until he bad squared accounts with St rout. Presently be heard the sound of wheels. The Pettengill house faced the south and EasAborougb Centre lay west of Mason's Corner, so be could not see the team when it 98 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. arrived, as it drove up to the back door, but he knew that Ezekiel had arrived with his sister. Uncle Ike and Cobb's twins went down stairs quickly; there was a jumble of voices, and then the party entered the house. A short time after he heard persons moving in the room adjoining his, and guessed that Ezekiel's sister was to occupy it. Tlhen he fell to imagining the conversation that was doubtless going on between Uncle Ike and his nephew. Quincy was not naturally nervous, but he did not like sus- pense; almost unconsciously he arose and walked back and forth across the room several times. Then it occurred to him that probably the uncle and nephew were having their conversation in the parlor, which was right under him, and he curbed his impatience and threw himself into the arm- chair, which stood near the open fireplace. As he did so there came a sharp rap at the door. In response to the quick uttered "Come in," the door opened and Uncle Ike entered. He came forward, took a seat in the rocking chair near Quincy and passed him two letters. Quincy looked up' inquiringly. He had had his mail sent to Eastborough Centre, where he had hired a box. At the Mason's Corner post ofEce the letters were stuck upon a rack, where every one could see them, and Quincy did not care to have the loungers at Hill's grocery inspect- ing his correspondence. Uncle Ike saw the look and understood it. Then he said, " 'Zekiel brought these over from Eastborough Cen- tre. He didn't want to, but the postmaster said one of them was marked 'In haste,' and he had been over to the hotel and found that you had gone to Mason's Corner, and probably wouldn't be back to-day, and so he thought 'Zekiel better bring it over." "It was very kind of Mr. Pettengill," said Quincy, "and I wish you would thank him for me." In the meantime he had glanced at his letters. One A QUIET EVENING. 99 bore, printed in the comer, the names, Sawyer, Crownin- shield, & Lawrence, Counsellors at Law, Court Street, Bos- ton, Mass. That was from his father. The other was directed in a feminine hand and bore the postmark, Mason's Corner, Mass. He could not imagine from whom it oould be. "I have had a talk with 'Zekiel," said Uncle Ike, "and the whole matter is satisfactorily arranged; he is a fair- minded young fellow and he don't believe you have done anything with the intention of injuring him. What did you pay up to Deacon Mason's?" "Five dollars a week," replied Quincy. "Well, it will be the same here," said Uncle Ike. "You can stay as long as you like. 'Zeke wouldn't charge you anything, but I said no, you have got to look out for your sister, and ;M'r. Sawyer can afiford to pay." Quincy broke in, "And I wouldn't stay unless I did pay. I am able and willing to pay more, if he will take it." "Not a cent more," said Uncle Ike. "H'e will give you your money's worth, and then one won't owe the other anything. When you come down to supper I'll introduce you, just as if you had never seen, each other, and you can both take a fresh start." Uncle Ike arose. "By the time you have read your let- ters supper will be ready, and I want to go in and have a talk with Alice. She is my only niece, Wr. Sawyer, and I think she is the finest girl in Massachusetts, and, as far as I know, there ain't any better one in 'tibe whole world;" and Uncle Ike went out, closing-the door behind him. Quincy resumed his seat by the window. The light had faded considerably, but he could still see to read. Nat- urally enough he first opened the letter bearing the femi- nine handwriting. He looked at the signature firs>t of all and read "Lucinda Putnam." "What can she have to write to me about?" he thought. He read the letter: 100 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. Mason's Corner, January 22, 186 — My dear Mr. Sawyer: — I re^et very much that I was absent when you called, but am glad to learn from mother that you had a pleasant visit. Ahhough you are from the city I am sure you would blush if you could hear the nice things mother said about you. I am conceited enough to think that you will find time to call on us again soon, for I wish to consult you regarding an important business matter. I am going to Boston next Monday in relation to this business and if you could make it convenient to call before then it would be greatly appreciated by Yours very truly, LuciNDA Putnam. Quincy reflected. "What is she up to? Some legal bus- iness, I suppose. Well, I am not practising law now; I shall have to refer her to — " He took up the other letter and read, "Sawyer, Crownin- shield, & Lawrence." His father's letter read as follows: Boston, January 21, 186 — My dear Son: — ^Yours at hand, and inquiries carefully noted. I had a brother, James Edward Sawyer; he was five years older than I and must be about sixty. Father wished him to study law, but he wouldn't study anything. When father died he got his share of the money, about .$50,000, but he squandered the most of it in high living. The next we heard of him he had married a country girl named Eunice Raymond, I think. He brought her to Boston and tried to introduce her into the society he had' been brought up in. She was a nice, pretty woman, but uneducated, and naturally bashful, and James finally left the city and went to live somewhere in the country, I never A QUIET EVEKING. 101 knew where! he never wrote me after leaving Boston. This Jim Sawyer may be your uncle. I hope not, but if he is, remember he is my brother, and if he needs any assistance let me know at once. I hope your health is improving. Your mother and sisters are well and send love, as does also Your affectionate father, Nathaniel Adams Sawyer. As Quincy finished his second letter there was anotlier rap at the door and Mandy's voice was heard outside saying, "Supper's ready, Mr. Saw — yer." Quincy jumped to his feet. He had not unlocked his trunk, as he was not certain that it would be worth while to do so. It was but the work of a few moments to make the necessary changes in his toilet. He put on a black Prince Albert coat in place of a sack coat that he usually wore, but before he had completed this change there came another tap on the doo'r, and Mandy's voice was heard saying, "The things will get cold if you don't come down right away." As Quincy entered the large room which was used for a dining-room, he was met by Uncle Ike. Ezekiel was stand- ing a short distance from 'his uncle. Uncle Ike said, " 'Zekiel, this is my friend, Mr. Sawyer. Mr. Sawyer, this is my nephew, 'Zekiel Pettengill. I am good friends with both of you, and I 'hope you will be good friends to each other." The two men shook hands. If each had any idea of what the other was thinking about he did not betray it by look or act. Uncle Ike continued, "Mr. Sawyer, this is Jim Cobb and this is Bill Cobb, and this," as IMiandy entered bearing something for the table, "is Miss Mlandy Skinner. Now that we are all acquainted, I think we had all better intro- 102 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. duce ourselves at once to the supper. I haven't done such a hard day's work for sixteen years." Ezekiel insisted upon Uncle Ike taking the head of the table. He motioned Mr. Sawyer to take the second seat from his uncle on the right, while he took the first seat on the left, with Cobb's twins next to him. Quincy immediately surmised that when the sister appeared at the table she would probably sit between him and Uncle Ike. The meal was not a very lively one as far as conversa- tion went. Quincy inquired politely concerning Miss Pet- tengill's health, and Uncle Ike said she was tired after her trip, and Mandy was going to take her supper up to her. The misal was plentiful and well cooked. Quincy thought to himself, how much brighter it would have looked, and how much better the food would have tasted if Miss Huldy Mason had been present with her pretty face, joyous laugh, and occasional bright sayings. After supper the things were quickly taken out by Mandy. The white tablecloth was removed, and one' in which the prevailing color was bright red took its place. The three men drew up to the open fireplace. Uncle Ike pulled out his pipe and said, "Do you allow smoking here, 'Zeke?" 'Zekiel replied, "I wish you and Mr. Sawyer to make yourselves perfectly at home and do just as you would if you were in your own house." "Well, if I did that," said Uncle Ike, "you wouldn't need Mandy, for I should be chief cook and bottle washer myself.'' Uncle Ike lighted his pipe, and Ezekiel took a cigar from his pocket, saying, "I guess I'll smoke, too." Then his face reddened. He said, "Beg pardon, Mr. Saiwyer, I have only this one." "That's all right," rejoined Quincy, "a cigar would be A QUIET EVENING. 103 too heavy for me to-night. I have a sHght headache, and if you will excuse me I will roll a cigarette." He took his little case oi rice paper from his pocket and also a smaJl pouch of tobacco, and deftly made and lighted a cigarette. Tihe three men sat smoking, and as Quincy blew a ring into the air he wondered what Sir Walter Raleigii would have said if he could have looked in upon them. Quincy broke the silence. "I am afraid, Uncle Ike, that I have caused you much inconvenience 'by driving you out of that pleasant front room where I found my trunk." "Not a bit," replied Uncle Ike. "I hate carpets, and I prefer to sleep in my own bed, and what's more, I wanted to put up my stove, and there was no chance in that front room. W.hen real cold weather comes I always have a ton of coal for my stove, so I am much better off where I am than I would be downstairs. By the Away, 'Zeke, just tell me all about Alice again. You won't mind Mr. Sawyer; he is one of the family now." "Well," said Ezekiel, "Alice was taken sick about the middle of December. The folks where she boarded sent for a doctor. - It was about eight o'clock in the morning when sihe was taken, and it was noon before she got easy, so they could get her tO' bed. She thoug'ht she was get- ting better; then she had another attack; then she thought she was 'getting better again, and tIhe third attack was the worst of the ithree. The folks wanted to write to me, but she wouldn't let them. When she really did begin to get better, she found out there was something that was worse than being sick. She found she couldn't see to read either print or writing, but Alice is a spunky ,girl, and she wouldn't give in, even then. A friend told her to go and see Dr. Moses, who was an eye doctor, ^and put herself right under his treatment. She thought she was going to get well right off at first, but when she found it was likely to be a long 104 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYER. job, then she gave in and wrote to me. She has brought her treatment down with her, and the doctor &ays she will have to go to Boston once a month to see him, as he is too busy to come down here." At this point in the proceedings the door opened and Mandy entered, bringing a large disih of big red apples and another full of cracked shellbarks. She left the room and returned almost immediately with a large dish full of pop- corn. "Have an apple?" said Ezekiel. "Help yourselves; we don't pass anything round here. We put the things on the table and each one helps himself." Mandy came in again, bringing a large pitcher of cider and some glasses, which she placed upon the table. While the three men were discussing their country even- ing lunch in silence, an animated conversation was taking place in the kitchen, the participants being Mandy, M'rs. Bridget Crowley, and Hiram, who always dropped in dur- ing the evening to get his glass of cider, a luxury that was not dispensed at Deacon Mason's. "Well," s.aid Mandy, "I think it's wasteful extravagance for you Irish folks to spend so much money on carriages when one of your friends happens to die. As you just said, wihen you lived in Boston you own up you spent fourteen dollars in one month going to funerals, and you paid a dollar a seat each time." "I did that,'' said Mrs. 'Crowley, "and I earned every bit of it doing washing, for Pat, Wess his sowl, was out of work at the time." "Just think of that!" said Mandy, turning to Hiram. "Well, it can't be helped," said Mrs. Crowley, obstinately. "Shure and if I don't go to folks' funerals they won't come to mine." This was too much for Mandy and Hiram, and they began laughing, which so incensed Mrs. Crowley that she "Mandy Skinner," as she appears in the play. A QUIET EVENING. 105 trudged off to her little room in the ell, which departure just suited Mandy and Hiram. "Have you got any soft soap here in the kitchen?" asked Hiram. "No," said Mandy, "I used the last this afternoon. I shall have to go out in the shed to-morrow morning and get some.'' "You wouldn't be likely to go out to-night for any?" asked Hiram. "I guess not," said Miandy. "Why, there is rats out in that shed as big as kittens. Did you want to use some?" "No," said Hiram, "but I didn't want you to have any 'round handy, for I am bound to tell you 'I heard Strout telling the minister's son that Lindy Putnam writ a letter to Mr. Sawyer and mailed it at Mason's Corner post office this momin', and it was directed to Eaatborough Centre, and Strout said it looked as though they were keeping up correspondence. I tell you that made. 'Manuel Howe mad, for he's gone on Lindy Putnam himself, and then Strout said that probably all the fellers in town would have to put off getting m^-ried until that city ohap had decided which one of the girls he wanted himself. And now, hang it," aaid Hiram, "he has come to live in this house, and I sha'n't have any peace of mind." Hiram dodgeH the -first apple 'Mlandy threw at his head, but the second one hit him squarely, and he gave a loud "Oh!" "Stop your noise," said Mandy, "or Mr. Pettengill will be out here. "I'll ask them if they want anything else," as she rapped on the door. There was no response and she opened it and looked in. "Why, they have all gone to bed," she said. At that moment the old -clock in the kitchen struck nine. "It's nine o'clock and you had better be going home, Hiram Maxwell." "I shall have to get some anarchy to put on my fore- 108 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. head," said Hiiram.> "See that big bump, Mandy, that you made." Mandy approached him quite closely and looked at his forehead; as she did so she turned up her nose and puck- ered her mouth. Her arms were hanging by her side. Hiram grasped her around the waist, holding both of her arms tight, and before Mandy could break away be gave her a kiss full on- the mouth. He made a quick rush for the door, opened it and da'shed out into the night. Luckily for him there was no moon and ihe was out of sight before Mandy could recover her. self-possession and reach, the door. She peered out into the darkness for a moment; thew she closed the door and bolted it, took a lamp and went up to her own room. Standing in front of her looking glass, she turned up her nose and puckered up her mouth as she had done when facing Hiram. "That's the first time Hiram. Miaxwell ever kissed me," she said to iherself. "Meibbe it will be the last time and mebbe it won't." Then she said reflectively, "I didn't think the little fellow had so much spunk in him." In a quarter of an hour she was dreaming of cupids, and hearts, and arrows, and St. Valentine's Day, wHoh was not so very far away. CHAPTER XV. A LONG LOST RELATIVE. EZEKIEL PETTENGILL owned what Deacon Mason did not — a nice carryall and a good road horse. Ezekiel would fix no price, but Quincy would not drive him unless he paid for the use of the team. One dollar for half a day, two dollars for a whole day, were the prices finally fixed upon. Quincy drove first to Mts. Putnam's. As he was ascend- ing the steps the front door was opened and Lindy stood there to welcome him, which she did by extending her hand and then showing him into the parlor. She was evi- dently on'the point of gK^ing out, for she had on her outdoor garments. After a few commonplaces relating to health and the weather, Quincy. .aibruptly approached the object •of his visit by saying, "I received your letter. Miss Putnam,^ and I have come to see if I can be of any service tO' you." "Oh! I know you can," siaid Lindy; "you are wealthy — " "I beg your pardon,"- interposed Quincy, "I am not what they call a wealthy young man; the fact that my father is possessed of a large fortune has probably given rise to tihe incorrect impression just repeated by you." "I understand," said Lindy, with a latigh. "What I meant to say was, that you are undoubtedly acquainted with wealthy gentlemen, who know the best ways of invest- ing money. I find my money a great trouble to me," she continued. "I had $25,000 invested in a first mortgage, but the property has been sold and the money repaid to me, and I don't know what to do with it." 108 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "The obvious thing to do," remarked Quincy, "is to invest it at once, so that it will begin paying you interest." "That is just what I wished to see you about," re- sponded Lindy. "How would you advise me to invest it?" she asked. "I would not presume," replied Quincy, "to give positive advice in such a case. I would go either to Foss & EoUans- bee, or Braithwaite & Mellen, or perhaps Rothwell Broth- ers & Co'., look over tihe securities they have for sale and make my own selection, if I were in your place. Lindy was manifestly disappointed at Quincy's polite refusal to recommend any particular security, but she evi- dently realized that further argument or entreaty would be useless, so she quickly changed the subject by remarking that her mother had considerable money invested, but that she was a woman who never took any advice and never gave any. "I wonder who my mother is going to leave her money to? Po you know, Mr. Sawyer?"' Quincy replied that he did not. "But she did tell me that by the terms of your brother's will you were not to inherit it." "Well, if you ever find out," said Lindy, "you will tell me, won't you, Mr. Sawyer?'' "Yes," said Quincy, "unless I am requested to keep it a secret." "But you wouldn't keep it froim me, their own daugh- ter," said Lindy. "Well," he replied, "I don't think it at all likely that they will inform me ; but I promise to tell you if I learn who it is and am not bound in any way to keep the information secret." "And will you tell me just as soon as you know?" per- sisted Lindy. "In less than twenty-four hours from the time I learn A LONG LOST EELATIVE. 109 the name you s'hall hear it from my own lips," he re- pHed. "Thank you," said Lindy. "Would you like to see father and mother? Father has been quite sick for a few days and they are in their own ro'om. I will go up and tell them you are coming." Quincy was left in the room. That gossip Oibout Miss Putnam oould not be true. Gossip said sihe was ashamed of her father and mother, and yet sihe had invited him to go up and see them. What a pretty girl she was, well edu- cated and with a hundred thousand dollars; such a beautiful singer and tlieir voices blended so nicely together. How pleased his mother and sisters would be if he should bring home a wife like her. On the wall hung an oil portrait of her, evidently painted within a short time. He sat looking at it as Lindy opened the door. Before he could remove his eyes fro'm the picture, Lindy had noticed ihis fixed gaze at it and smiled brightly. "Mother would be delighted to see you." Lindy rang a small bell that was on a table. In a mo- ment Samanthy entered the room. ,. "Samantha, please sihow Mr. Sawyer to mother's room. Will you excuse me, Mr. Sawyer, if I am not here to say good-by to you after you have seen mother? I am going to the city this morning and there—" looking out of the window — ^"here comes Abner Stiles; he is going to drive me over to Eastborough. Did you ever meet Mr. Stiles, Mr. Sawyer?" "I may have seen him," replied Quincy. "Seeing him is nothing," said Lindy. "He must be beard to be apipreciated. He is a most engaging talker; he has caught the biggest fish and killed the biggeist bears — " "And told the biggest lies," broke in Quincy, — "Of any man in town," Lindy concluded. "I think there is one man in town who can tell bigger 110 QTIINCY ADAMS SAWYER. ones," Quincy said gravely; "he has been telling a good many lately." Lindy looked up and smiled. "He will never forgive us for what we did at the concert," said she. "Well, I mustn't keep Mir. Stiles waiting any longer, if I do he may — " "Try to compete with the other one," added Quincy. She smiled again, and gave him her little gloved hand, which he took in 'his for an instant. She ran out quickly and got into the team, which imme- diately drove off. Samanthy, who had been waiting im- patiently in the hallway, ushered Quincy into an upper chamber, where sat Mrs. Putnam. Her husband was reclining on a lounge near the fire. "Well, I am awful glad to- see yer," said Mrs. Putnam. "Silas here hasn't heen feelin' fust rate for more'n a week. He's most frozen to death all the time. So I got him up front of the fire, sam^e as I used tO' roast turkeys. Set down, Mr. Sawyer, and tell me all the news. Have you heerd anybody going to git engaged or anybody going to git married? I heerd as how you had left Deacon Miason's. So you 'cided to take my advice. I'm kinder sorry you tipped the buggy over, for Huldy 'Mason's a nice girl. The fact is I was thinkin' more of her than I was of you, when I told yer you'd feetter git out. Where be yer boardin' now?" "I am boarding at Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill's. His sister has got home and his Uncle Isaac has come back to live with him." "Lord sakes, dio tell!" said Mrs. Putnam. "I alius thought that old fool would die out there in the woods and they'd bury him in his chicken coop. But what on airth is Alice home for? Has she lost her job?" "No," replied Quincy; "poor girl, she has almost lost A LONG LOST EELATrVE. Ill her sight. She has been very sick, and as a result she is almost blind, and had to give up work and come home." Mrs. Putnam sank back in her chair. "If I didn't think you were a truthful man, Mr. Sawyer, I wouldn't b'lieve a word you said. My poor Alice. Why, do you know, Mr. Sawyer, I never saw a human beang in all my life that I liked so much as I .have Alice Pettengill. Did you ever see her, Mr. Sawyer?" "No," said Quincy, "sihe only arrived yesterday after- noon, and she did not appear at supper nor at breakfast this morning. She was tired and wished to rest, her brother told me." "Well, I hoipa she won't die," said Mrs. Putnam. "I have left her every dollar I've got in the world, and if she should die I sibouldn't know who on airth to give it to. Well, there, I've let the cat out of the bag, and my daughter Lindy, mean as she is about money, would give a thou- sand dollars to know who I am goin' to leave my money to. I wish I could see Alice. I can't walk, and that poor, dear girl can't see. Why, Mr. Sawyet, I think sihe's the prettiest, sweetest girl I ever sot eyes on in my life, and I've seed a good many on 'em. Now you tell me what you think of her the next time you come up, won't you, Mr. Sawyer?" "I certainly will," said Quincy, "and if she will come with me I will bring her over to see you. If sihe came from Boston with her brother, she can surely ride as far as this," he added. "Tell her I shall count every minute till she comes over here, but don't say a word to her about my money," said Mrs. Putnam. "Certainly not," Quincy answered. "You did not in- tend to tell me." "No, I didn't," acknowledged Mrs. Putnam, "it slipped out before I thought." 112 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. Quincy arose. "I must go now, Mrs. Putnam. I have business at Eastborough Centre, and I don't know bow long it will take me, and 'besides, I am anxious to see Miss Pettengill after your glowing description of her boauty and her virtues.'' "Well, I haven't put the paint on half as thick as it would stand," said Mrs. Putnam. "Well, good-by, Mr. Sawyer. It's very kind in you to come and see two old folks like us. No use saying good-by to Silas; he's stone deef and besides he's sound asleep." When Quincy took up the reins and started towards Eastborough Centre it was with conflictinig emotions. If there had been no Alice Pettengill to see, his thoughts, no doubt, would have related chiefly to LJndy Putnam, who had never attracted his attention before as she had that morning. Could Alice Pettengill be as pretty and as good as Mrs. Putnam had portrayed? And she was to be an heiress. He was sorry that Mrs. Putnam had told him. When he was talking to Miss Pettengill what he knew would be continually in his mind. He was glad that she was to have the money, but very sorry that .he knew she was to have it; he (had promised not to tell her, but he had promised to tell Lindy. Mrs. Putnam had not told him not to tell Lindy, but sihe had said Lindy would give a^ thousand dollars to know. Now, was that the same as requesting him not to tell Lindy, and should he tell Lindy for nothing what her mother said she would give a thou- sand dollars to know? Anyhow, that question must be decided within the next twenty-four hours. Then he began to think of his intended visit to East- borough Poorhouse. Would the Jim Sawyer that he found there turn out to be his own' uncle? What a sweet morsel that would be for Strout if it proved to be true. Anyhow, he would follow his father's instructions and do all he could for his uncle, come what might. A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 113 Since he had arrived at Mason's Corner everything that he had done seemed to give rise tO' gossip, and a Httle more of it could do no ha-rm. Quincy reached the Poorhouse and inquired for the keeper. A very stout, red-faced man answered the sum- mons. He informed Quincy that his name was Asa Waters, and that he had been keeper of the town Poorhouse for the last ten years. Quincy thought from his size, as 'he evidently weighed between three and four hundred pounds, that he had prob- aibly eaten all the food supplied for the inmates. In reply to a direct question whether there was a man there by the name of Jim Sawyer, Mr. Waters said "yes," but that he was sick abed and had been for the last week. "He coughs awful," said Waters; "in fact, I had to change his room because the rest of us couldn't sleep. When we tried to move hi.m he became sort of crazy like, and it took three on us to get him out of the room and take him upstairs. He seems sot on getting back in that room. The other day he crawled down stairs and we found him trying to get into the room, but I had it locked and we had another fight to get him upstairs again." "Well," said Quincy, "I would like to see him; it may be he is a distant relative of our family. My father wishes me to talk with him and make the inquiry anyway." "What mought your name be?" asked Mr. Waters. "My name is Quincy Adams Sawyer." "Oh, yes, I remember you," said Waters. "Wasn't ycm the singer that Mr. Strout hired to come down from Bos- ton to sing at his concert. Strout told me 'he paid you $50 for singing that night, and by gosh it was worth it.'' Quincy was not a profane young man, but he had to smother an oath on hearing that. He replied, "Yes, I sang that night." 114 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "And," said Waters, "didn't you whistle that piece. Listen to the BoboHnk, fine?" "Here, Sam," said be to a. young £ellow who appeared in sight, "show this gentleman up to Jim Sawyer's room; I'm getting kind of pussy, and I don't gO' upstairs much." Sam performed his mission and Quincy was ushered into the room and found himself with the sick man. "Is your name James Sawyer?" asked Quincy. "Yes," said the man. "I used to be proud of it once." "Did you have a brother?" asked Quincy. ^ "Well," siaid Jim, "1 don't think he would be proud of me now, so I guess I won't claim :any relationship." Quincy stopped for a moment. Evidently the man's pride would keep him from, telling anything about himself. He would try him on a new tack. The man had a long fit of coughing. When it had suibsided, Quincy said, "It wearies you to talk, I will do the talking, and if what I say is true you can nod your head.'' Quincy continued, "Your name is James Edward Sawyer, your brother's name was Nathaniel." The man opened his eyes, wide and looked steadfastly at him. "Your father, Edward .Sawyer, left yo'U fifty thousand dollars.'^ The man clutched with both hands at the quilt on the bed. "You are abO'Ut sixty years o.f age." The man nodded. "You married a young girl who lived in the cO'Untry and took her to B.ostOTi with you; her maiden name was Eunice Raymond." The man started up in bed, resting on his elbow. "How did you know all this?" asked he. "Who has told you this? Who are you?" The exertion and the rapid speaking brought on another fit of coughing and he fell back on his pillow. "If what I have said is true,'' remarked Quincy quietly, "your brother, Nathaniel, is my father, and I am your nephew, Quincy Adams Sawyer." "Who sent you to see me?" asked the man. A LOKG LOST RELATIVE. 115 "I heard," replied Quincy, "that a man named James Sawyer was in the Eastborough Poorhouse. I wrote to my father, and in his reply he told me what I have just said to you. If you are my uncle, father says to do every- thing I can to help you, and if he had not said so I would have done it anyway." "It is all true," said the man faintly. "I squandered the money my father left me. I married a sweet, young girl and took her to the city. I tried to introduce her into the set to which I once belonged. It was a failure. I was angry, not with myself for expecting too much, but with her because she gave me too little, as I then thought. We had two children — la hoy named Ray and a little girl named Mary, after my mother." "My grandmother," said Quincy. James Sawyer continued: "I took to drink. I abused the wpman whose only fault had been that she had loved me. I neglected to provide for my family. My wife fell sick, my two little children died, and my wife soon followed them. I returned from a debauch which had lasted me for about a month to find thait I was alone in the world. I fled from the town where we had lived, came here and tried to re- form. I could not. I fell sick and they sent me here to the Poorhouse. I have had no ambition to leave. I knew if I did it would mean the same old life. I am glad you came. I cannot tell you how glad. I do not wish for any assistance; the town will care for me as long as I live, which will not be very long; but your coming enables me to per- form an act of jusitice which otherwise I could not have done." "Tell me in what way I can serve you," said Quincy, "and it shall be done.'' "Look outside of the door," said the man, "and see if anybody is listening." 116 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. Quincy opened the door suddenly and ■the broad face of Mr. Asa Waters stood revealed. "I thought I would come up and see if Mr. Sawyer wanted anything." "If he does," said Quincy, "I will inform you;" and he closed the door in Mr. Waters's face. Quincy waited till he heard his ponderous footsteps de- scending the stairs ait the foot of the hallway. "Was old Waters out there listening?" asked Jim Saw- yer. "I don't think he had time to hear anything," Quincy replied. "Come closer," said Jim; "let me whisper. I am not penniless. I have got some money. I have five thousand dollars in government bonds. I sold some stock I owned just before I went ofif on that last debauch, but I didnt spend all the money. When I die I want you to pay back to the town of Eastborough every dollar I owe for board. Don't let anybody know you got the money from me. Pay it yourself and keep the balance of it yourself." "Where is the money?" said Quincy. "It is down in my old room, No. 24, one flight down from here, at the other end of the hallway. I have got a key that will open the door. I made it myself. I nearly got in there the other day, but they caught me before I had a chance to open the door. If you can get in there take up the fourth brick from the window, second row from the front of the fireplace, and you wiill find the bonds in an old leather wallet. What time is it?" he asked quickly. "Half-past eleven," replied Quincy. "ISTow is your time," said the man; "all the hands have the;ir dinner from half-past eleven to twelve ; at twelve they feed us ; take this key, and if you get the money, for God's sake come around to-morrow and let me know. I sha'n't sleep a wink till I hear from you." A LONG LOST BELATIVE. 117 Quincy pressed the sick man's hand and left the room. He went downstairs on tiptoe and quickly reached room No. 24. He listened; all was quiet; it took but an instant to open the door, and, slipping quietly in, he locked it after him. With some difficulty he found the wallet, looked inside and saw five one thousand dollar United States bonds. He put the wallet in his pocket, replaced the brick, and listened at the door; all was quiet. He unlocked it, slipped out, locked it, and was retracing his steps, when he saw Sam coming upstairs at the other end of the hallway. "I think I took the wrong turn," said Quincy. "I thought I came up that way.'' "No," said Sam.; "that's the back way." "Tihank you," said Quincy, as he ran lightly downstairs. At the foot he met Mr. Waters. "Well, is he any relative of yours?" asked Waters. "I don't know yet," replied Quincy; "he has given me some facts, and I am going to write to Boston, and when I bear from there I will be able to answer your question. I will come around in a few days, as soon as I hear from the city." Quincy jumped into his team and drove to Eastborough Centre post office to see if there were any letters for him. When he reached the post office he found a letter from his father, informing him his mother and sisters were going to New York for a two weeks' visit and would very much like to see 'him if he would run up the next day. Quincy's mind was made up instantly. He drove to the hotel, left the team, with instructions to have it ready for him when he came down on the express that reached East- borough Centre at 7.15 P. M., ran for tjie station and caught 'On to the back platform of the last oar as- it sped on its way to Boston. Arriving there, be first took a hasty lunch, then hiring a coupe by the hour, drove to his bank on State Street. 118 yUlNCY ADAMS SAWYER, Here he left the bcrnds with instructions to write to East- borough Centre the amount realized from them and pa^ed to the credit of his account. His next trip was to his father's house on Beacon Street, where he found his motiher and sisters. They were over- joyed to see him, and his younger sister declared that he had grown better looking since he went away. She wanted to know if he had fallen in love with a country girl. Quincy replied that his heart, was still free and if it wasn't for the law he would have her for his wife, and no one else. Maude laughed and slapped him. He next rode to his father's office on Court Street. The Hon. Nathaniel had just lunched at Parker's and was en- joying a good cigar when his son came in. Quincy told him that the Jim^ Sawyer at Eastborough Poorhouse was unquestionably their missing relative. "Poor Jim," said Nathaniel; "I ought to go and see ihim." "No; I wouldn't," said Quincy, "it will do no good, and his remorse is deep enough now without adding to it." He then told his father about the money, and the latter agreed that Jim's idea was right and Quincy had best use the money as though it were his own. "By the by," said his father, wheeling round in his office chair, "that Miss Putnam from Eastborough is a very pretty girl; don't you think so, Quincy?" "Handsome is as handsome does," thought Quincy to himself, but he only said, "Where did you see her?" "She was in here to-day," replied his father. "She said she had $25,000 to invest, and that you gave her the address of some broker, but that she had forgotten it."' "Her statement is partially true," said Quincy, "but not complete. I gave her three addresses, because I did not wish to recommend any particular one. I wished her to make her own choice." "I was not so conservative," remarked his father. "I A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 119 advised her to go to Foss & Follansbee and even suggested that Quinnebaug Copper Company was one of the most promising investments before the public to-day." "Did she confide in you any farther," said Quincy. "Oh, yes," replied his father; "I gleaned she was worth $100,000 and that her parents, who were very old people, had nearly as much more. I remember her brother, J. Jones Putnam. He was a 'plunger,' and a successful one. He died suddenly of lung fever, I believe." Quincy smiled. "She seemed to be well educated," his father continued, "and told me that you and she sang together at a concert." "Did she tell you what her father's religion was?" inquired Quincy. "You don't seem to admire this young lady, Quincy. I thought she would be likely to be a great friend of yours. You might do worse than — " "I know,'' said Quincy, "she is pretty, well educated, musical, very tasteful in dress, and has money, but she can't haive me. But how did it end?" asked he; "how did yo-u get rid of her?" "Well," replied his father, "as I said before, I thought she must be a great friend of yours, and perhaps more, so I went down to Foss & Follansbee's with her; then we went to Parker's to lunch, then I sent her to the station in a coupe." "I am greatly obliged to yoii, father," said Quincy, "for the kind attentions you paid her. I shall get the full credit of them down in Eastborouglh ; your name will not be men- tioned; only," said Quincy with a laugh, "if she is coming to the city very often I think perhaps I had better come back to Boston and look after mother's interests." The Hon. Nathaniel was nettled by this and said sternly, "I do not like that sort of pleasantry, Quincy." 120 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEE. "Neither do I," said Quincy coolly, "and I hope there will be no further occasion for it." "How long do you intend to remain, in Eastborough?" asked his father. "I don't know," replied Quincy. "I can't come home while Uncle Jim- is sick, of course. I will ask him if he would like to see you, and if he says yes, I will telegraph you. Well, good-by. I was up to the house and saw mother and the girls. I am going up to the club to see if I can meet some of the boys and have some dinner, and I shall go down on the 6.05 express.'' Quincy lighted a cigar, shook hands rather stififly with his father and left the office. When Quincy reached the Pettengill ho.use it was a little after eight o'clock. Hiiram came out to help him put up the horse. "Anybody up?" asked Quincy. "Only Mandy and me," said Hiram. "Uncle Ike is up in his attic, and 'Zeke is up talkin' to his sister, and Mandy and me has been talkin' to each other; and, say, Mr. Saw^ yer, did you meet Lindy Putnam up in Boston to-day?'' "No," said Quincy between his shut teeth. "Well, that's funny," said Hiram; "I heard Abner Stiles telling Strout as how Miss Putnam told him that Mr. Saw- yer had been to the banker's with her to invest her money, and that Mr. Sawyer took her out to lunch and then rode down to the station in a carriage and put her aboard the train." "There are a great many Mr. Sawyers in Boston, you must remember, Hiram," remarked Quincy. "Anything else, Hiram?" "Well, not much more," replied Hiram; "but Strout said that if you got Lindy and her money and then cajoled the old couple into leavin' their money to you, that it would be the best game of bunco that had ever been played in Eastborough." A LONG LOST RELATIVE. 121 "Well, Strout ought to know what a good bunco game is,'' said Quincy. "Have the horse ready by nine o'clock in the morning if you can get over. Good night, Hiram," he said. He passed through the kitchen, saying good night to Mandy, and went sitraight to his own room. He sat and tbouglht for an hour, going over the events of the day. "As soon as Uncle Jim is dead and buried," said he to himself, "I think I will leave' this town. As the children say when they play 'hide and gO' seek,' I am getting warm." CHAPTER XVI. A PROMISE KEPT. QUINCY was up next mornimg at eight o'clock and ate his breakfast with 'Zekiel. 'Zekiel said his sister did not sleep w€ll nights, and so would not be down till later. ; "Do you want the team this morning, Mr. Pettengill?" asked Quincy. "No," said 'Zekiel, "but the Boston doctor wrote to Dea- con Mason that he was comin' down this afternoon to take that stuff off Huldy's arm, and she wanted me to come up, so I shall be up there all the afternoon." "T^hat reminds me,'' said Quincy. "Will you tell Deacon Mason that I want the nurse to stay until to-morrow and I will be up to see her at nine o'clock?" Quincy took up the reins and started for Eastborough Poorhouse. He found his uncle weaker than on the dajy before. Quincy touched his hand, but did not lift it from the bed. Jim pointed towards the door. "It's all right," said Quincy, "there is no one there." "Did you get it?" asked Uncle Jim in a whisper. "Yes," replied Quincy, "and it's safe in the bank in Boston." "Thank God !" exclaimed Uncle Jim. "Now I don't care how soon I am cailled to judgment for my sins." "Uncle Jim," said Quincy, "I saw my father yesterday afternoon. Would you like to have your birother come and sec you?" A PROMISE KEPT. 123 Uncle Jim shook his head. "It will do no good,'' said he. "You have done all I could wish for. Pay Hhe town for my board. Give them what they ask. Do with the balance what you wish, Quincy. It is yours." "Where do you wish to be buried, Uncle?" asked Quincy bravely. "Right here," replied Uncle Jim. "One of the boys here died about a month ago; ihis name was Tom Buck. H'e was a good fellow and did many kind things for me. Bury me side of him." "One more question, Uncle," said Quincy. "In what town did your wife and children reside when they died?'' "In Amesbury," said Uncle Jim. An idea seemed to strike him. "Well, Quincy, do you suppose you could find where they are buried?" "Of course I can," Quincy answered. "Well," continued Uncle Jim, "I don't deserve it, I am not worthy of it, but she always loved me, and so did the children. I never struck her, nor them, nor did I ever speak unkindly to them. I never went home when I was drunk. I deserted them ajnd left them to suffer. I don't think she would object, do you?" Quincy divined his thoughts and answered, "No, I do not. Uncle." "If you will do it, Quincy," said Uncle Jim, "I shall die a happy man. Buy a little lot and put me beside Eunice and the children. Don't put my name on the stone, put her name and those of the children. That will please me best. She will know I am there, but others will not." "It shall be done as you say, Uncle," said Quincy. "I will be here early to-morrow morning and I shall come every day to see you. Good-by." He touched his uncle's hand again softly and left the room. Uncle Jim, with a smile upon his wasted face, fell asleep. 124 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. Quincy drove leisurely towards Mason's Corner. It was more than twenty-four hours since he had learned who was to be Mrs. Putnam's heiress. He had made a promise. Should he keep it? How could he avoid keeping it? He would see Miss Putnam and be governed by circumstances. He reached the Putnam house and was shown into the same room as on the morning before. In a few minutes Lindy joined him. He had never seen her looking better. She had on a handsome gown that he had never seen before. Quincy opened the conversation. "Did you enjoy your trip to Boston yesterday. Miss Putnam?" "Oh, yes," replied lindy, "I must tell you all about it." "There is no need to. Miss Putnam, I am acquainted with the most important events of your trip already." "Why, how?" asked Lindy. "Oh, I see," said she, "you had a letter from your father." "No," said Quincy. "I had the pleasure of a conversa- tion with my father yesterday afternoon in Boston." "Is that so?'' exclaimed Lindy. "Yes," said Quincy, "but I might have learned all the principal facts without leaving Mason's Corner. In fact, I did learn them in a somewhat distorted shape late last erven- mg. Lindy colored until her forehead was as red as her cheeks. "I do not understand you, Mr. Sawyer," she remarked. "It is easily explained," said Quincy. "Mr. Stiles for- got to mention that it was my father who was your escort and not myself. Of course he would offer the similarity in names as his excuse.'' "And so," said Lindy, recovering herself, "you have comre here to scold me because Abner Stiles didn't tell the truth. I told you he was a wonderful story teller." A PROMISE KEPT. 125 "No, Miss Putnam," said Quincy, "I did not come here for any such purpose. I made you a promise yesterday and I have come to keep it. I know who is to inherit your mother's money. She did not intend to tell me, but the name escaped her unintentionally." "Did she ask you not to tell me?" asked Lindy. "No," replied Quincy, "not in so many words," "Then you must tell me," cried Lindy eagerly. "Well, I don't know,'' said Quincy. "Your mother said you would give a thousand dollars to know the name of the person. This fixes the condition on which I shall divulge the name." "And if I did give you a thousand dollars," inquired Lindy, "what would you do with the money?" "I should give it to your mother," said Quincy. "She fixed the price of the secret, not I." Lindy walked to the window and looked out. She wished to know the name. She had her suspicions, but she could not bear to give up a thousand dollars of her own money, for she knew that this, too, would go to the un- known heiress. She knew Alice Pettengill was in town and at her brother's house. She had been there for a whole day and parts of two others. She would save her money and at the same time learn the truth. Turning to Quincy she said, "I cannot afford to pay you, or rather my mother, a thousand dollars for the secret. It is not worth it. I will not ask you again for her name, but if you will answer me one simple question I will absolve you from your promise." Quincy reflected. He knew that Lindy was deep and that she was plotting something while she stood at the win- dow. But he wished this matter over, he was tired of it, so he replied, "I will answer your simple question. Miss Putnam, on one condition. It is that you will not deem 126 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. me guilty of any intentional discourtesy if, after replying to it, I at once take my leave." They faced each other, she hardly able to conceal her impatience, he with a stern look upon his face. "My simple question is this, Mr. Sawyer, have you ever eaten a meal at the same table with my mother's heiress?" "I have never seen her,'' replied Quincy coldly. He took his hat, and with a low bow quitted the house and drove away. Lindy threw herself in a passion on the sofa and burst into a flood of tears. She had played her last card and had lost. CHAPTER XVII. AN INFORMAL INTRODUCTION, WHEN Quincy drove into the barn be found Jim Cobb there, and he turned the horse over to him. Entering by the back door he passed through the kitchen without seeing eithet Mandy or Mrs. Crowley, and went slowly upstairs. The house was very quiet. He remem- bered that Uncle Ike bad gone to Eastborough Centre and 'Zekiel had gone to Deacon Mason's. It was necessary for him to pass the door of the room occupied by Alice Pettengill in order to reach his own room. The door of her room was open. He involuntarily glanced in and then stood still. What vision was this that met his eye? The sun, now dropping to the westward, threw its rays in at the window and they fell upon the head of the yo-ung girl seated beside it. The hair was goMen in the sunlight, that real golden that is seldom seen excepting on the heads of young children. She seemed slight in figure, but above the average stature. She wore a loose-fitting dress of light blue material, faced down the front with white, and over her shoulders was thrown a small knitted shawl of a light pink color. Quincy could not see her face, except in profile, for it was turned towards the window, but the profile was a striking one. He turned to step forward and enter his own room. As, he did so the board upon which he stood creaked. He stopped again suddenly, hoping that the noise would not attract her attention, but her quick ear had caught the sound, and. 128 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. rising, s'he advanced towards the door, her hand's extended before iher. "Is that you, Uncle Ike?" she asked in a clear, sweet voice. "I heard you drive in." She had started in a straight line towards the door, but for some cause, perhaps the bright light coming from the wood fire in the open fireplace, she swerved in her course and would have walked directly towards the blazing wood had not Quincy rushed forward, caught her by the hand and stopped her further progress, saying as he did so, "Miss Pettengill, you will set your dress on fire." "You are not Uncle Ike," said she, quickly. "He could not walk as fast as that. Who are you? You must know nie, for you called me by name.'' Quincy .replied, "Under the circumstances. Miss Petten- gill, I see no way but to introduce myself. I am your brother's boarder, and my name is Sawyer." "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Sawyer," said she, ex- tending her hand, which Quincy took. "I feel acquainted with you already, for Uncle Ike speaks of you very often, and 'Zekiel said you used to board at Deacon Mason's. Don't you think Huldy is a lovely girl?" Quincy avoided this direct question and replied, "Uncle Ike has been equally kind in speaking of his niece. Miss Pettengill, so that I feel acquainted with her even without this, — I was going to say formal introduction, — but I think that we must both confess it was rather informal." Alice laughed merrily. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Saw- yer? I have been alone nearly all day, and have really been very lonesome." She turned and groped, as if feeling for a chair. Quincy sprang forward, placed a large rocking chair before the fire, then, taking her hand, saw her safely ensconced in it. He then took a seat in a large armchair at the end of the fireplace nearest the door. AN INFORMAL INTRODUCTION. 129 "Thank you, Mr. Sawyer," said Alice. "Everybody has been so kind to me since I have had this trouble with my eyes. Of course 'Zekiel has told you about it." "Yes," assented Quincy. He really did not care to talk. He was satisfied to sit and look at her, and be could do this with impunity, for she could not see hia earnest gaze fixed upon her. "I have been used to an active life,'' said Alice. "I have had my business to attend to every day, and evenings I had my books, papers, pictures, and music. At first it seemed so hard to be shut out from them all, but years ago Uncle Ike taught me to be a philosopher and to take life as it came, without constantly fretting or finding fault. Uncle Ike says, 'It is not work but worry that wears men out.' That's why he came down here to live in the woods. He said they wouldn't let him work and so he worried all the time, but when he oame here he had plenty to do, and in 'his work 'he found happiness." "I am learning a good lesson," said Quincy with a laugh. "I have studied much, but I actually never did a day's work in all my life. Miss Pettengill." "Then you are to be pitied," said Alice frankly; "but I see I should not blame you, you are studying now and get- ting ready tO' work." "Perhaps so,'' Quincy remarked. "My father wishes me to be a lawyer, but I detest reading law, and have no in- clination to follow in my father's footsteps." "Perhaps you are too young," said Alice, "to settle upon your future career. I cannot see you, you know, and Uncle Ike did not say how old you were." Quincy smiled. "I am in my twenty-fourth year," said he. "I graduated at Harvard two years ago." "So old!" exclaimed Alice; "why, I am not twenty-one until next June, and I have been working for my living since I was sixteen." 130 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. Quincy said, "I wish I had as honorable a record." "Now you are vexed with me for speaking so plainly," S'aid Alice. "Not at all," Quincy replied. "I thank you for it. I have learned from Uncle Ike that frankness of speech and honesty of heart are Pettengill characteristics." "You might add," said Alice, "firmness in deibate, for none of us like to own up that we are beaten. I remember years ago Uncle Ike and I had a long discussion as to whether it were better to be stone blind or stone deaf. I took the ground that it was better to be blind, for one could hear music and listen to the voices of friends, and 'hear the sound of approaching danger, and then, besides, 'everybody is so kind to a person who is blind. But you see Uncle Ike don't care for music, and had rather talk himself than listen, so he decided that it was best to be stone deaf, for then he could read and write to his friends. But of course neither of us gave in, and the question, so far as we are concerned, is still unsettled." At that moment the sound of a team was heard, and a few minutes later Uncle Ike came upstairs, followed by the driver of the team bearing a big basket and a large bundle. These contained Uncle Ike's purchases. "Wait a tninute and I will go upstairs with you," called out Uncle Ike to the man. He entered the room, and looking somewhat surprised at seeing Quincy, he said somewhat sharply, "So you two have got acquainted, have youl* I have been waiting for two days to introduce you." "I am greatly indebted to Mr. Sawyer," said Alice. "When he passed my door, which was open, I thought it was you and I started forward to meet you, but I missed my way and was walking directly towards the fire, when Mr. Sawyer interposed." "I should have done the same thing had it been me," AN INFOKMAL INTRODUCTION, 131 said Uncle Ike. "So I don't see as you were in any real danger." Quincy thought that it was noticeably evident that the Pettengills were noted for plainness of speech. "Here are three letters for you, Alice, and here is one for you, Mr. Sawyer. I thought I would bring it over to you as I met Asa Waters down to the post office and he said you'd started for home. I'll be down in a few min- utes, Alice, and read your letters for you." And Uncle Ike showed the man the wiay up to his domicile. Quincy arose, expressed his pleasure at having met Miss Pettengill, and presuming they would meet again at dinner, took his leave. The letter was from Quincy's father; It was short, but was long enoiigh to cause Quincy to smother an oath, crush the letter in his hands and throw it into the open fire. The flames touched it; and the strong draught took it still ablaze up the wide-mouthed chimney. But Quincy's unpleasant thought did not go with it. The letter had said, "Quinnebaug stock 'has dropped off five points. Foss & Follansbee have written Miss Putnam that she must put up five thousand dollars to cover margin. Better see her at once and tell her the drop is only tem- porary, and the stock is sure to recover." Quincy sat down in his easy-chair, facing the fire, upon which be put some more wood, which snapped and crackled. "I won't go near that girl again," said he, with a deter- mined look upon his face. The next moment he had ban- .sbed Lindy Putnam from his mind, and was thinking of if it were to be passed in the law offices of Sawyer, Crowninshield, & Lawrence. At any rate his health was not fully restored and he determined to stay at Miison's Corner as long as he could do so without causing a break in the friendly relations existing between his father and himself. His present income was enough for his personal needs, but it was not sufficient to also support a Mrs. Quincy Adams Sawyer. What Ezekiel had prophesied came true. No one knew just wihen the storm began, but the picture that greeted Mandy Skinner's eyes when she came down to get break- fast was a great contrast to that of the previous day. The snow had fallen steadily in large, 'heavy flakes, the road and the fields showed an even, unbroken surface of white; the tops of th'e taller fences were yet above the snow line, each post wearing a white cap. Ais the morn- ing advanced the storm increased, the wind blew, and great drifts were indications of its power. The thick clouds of white flakes were thrown in every direction, and only dire necessity, it seemed, would be a sufficient reason for leav- ing a comfortable fireside. Mandy and M'rs. Crowley were busily .engaged in pre- paring the morning meal, when a loud scratching at a door, which led into a large room thait was used as an addi- tion to the kitchen, attracted their attention. In bounded Swiss, the big St. Bernard dog belonging to Uncle Ike. At Uncle Ike's special request Swiss had not been banished to the barn or the wood-shed, but had been allowed to sleep on a pallet in the comer of the large room referred to. Swiss was a great favorite with Mandy, and he was a great friend of 'hers, for Swiss was very particular about his food, and he 'had found Mandy to be a much better 162 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. cook than Uncle Ike had been; besides the fare was more bouinteous at the Pettengill homestead than down at the chicken coop, and Swiss had gained in weight and strength since his change of quarters. After 'breakfast Uncle Ike came into the kitchen and received a warm welcome from Swiss. Uncle Ike told Mandy and Mrs. Crowley the well-known story of the rescues of lost travellers made by the St. Bernard dogs on the snow-clad mountains of Switzerland. When Mrs. Crowley learned that Swiss had come from a country a great many miles farther away from America than Ireland was, he rose greatly in her estimation and she made no objection to his occupying a warm corner of the kitchen. About moon, w^hen the storm was at its very worst, Mandy, who was looking out of the kitchen window, espied something black in the road about halfway 'between Deacon Mason's and the Pettengill house. She called Mrs. Crow^ ley to the window and asked her what she thought it was. "Tihat's aisy," said Mrs. Crowley. "It's a man coming down the road." "What can bring a man out in such a storm as this?" asked iMandy. "Perhaps he is going for the doother," remarked Mrs. Crowley. "Then he would be going the other way," asserted Mandy. "He's a plucky little divil anyway," said Mrs. Crowley. "That's so," said Mandy. "He is all rigfht as long as he keeps on his feet, but if he should fall down — " At that moment the man did fall down or disappear fromi sight. Mandy pressed her face against the window pane and looked with strained eyes. He was up again, she could see the dark clothing above the top of the snow. What was that! A cry? The sound was repeated: "I do believe the man is calling for help," cried Mandy. She rushed to the kitchen door and opened it. SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 163 She rushed to the kitchen door and opened it. A gust of snow swept into the room, followed by a stream, of cold, chilling air. Swiss awoke from bis nap and lifted his head. Despite the storm, Mandy stood at the dbor and screamed "Hello !" with her sharp, strident voice. Could sihe believe her ears? Through the howling storm came a word uttered in a voice which her woman's heart at once recog- nized. The word was "Mandy," and the voice was Hiram's. "What on earth is he out in this storm for?" said iMandy to herself. She called back in response, "Hello! Hello! Hello!" and once more her own name was borne to her through the beating, driving storm. She shut the door and resumed her post at the window. Hiram was still struggling manfully against the storm and bad made considerable progress. Mandy turned to Mrs. Crowley and said, "Mr. Maxwell is coming, Mrs. Crowley." "More fool ihe," remarked Mrs. Crowley, "to be out in a storm like this." "Get some cider, Mrs. Crowley," said Mandy, "and put it on the stove. He will need a good warm drink when be gets here." "If he was a son of mine he'd get a good warmin'," said Mrs. Crowley, as she went down cellar to get the cider. iMandy still strained her eyes at the window. The dark form was still visible, moving slowly through the snow. At that moment a terrific storm of wind _struck the house; it made every window and .timber rattle; great clouds of snow were swept up from the ground to mingle with those coming from above, and the two were thrown into a whirling eddy that struck the poor traveller and took him from his feet, covering him from sight. Mandy rushed to the door and opened it. This time sbe did not scream' "Hello." The word this time was "Hiram! He is lost! He is lost!" she cried. "His strength has given out; tmt 164 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. what shall I do? I could not reach him ii I -tried. Oh, Hiram! Hiram!" and the poor girl burst into tears. She would call Mr. Fettengill; she would call Cobb's twins; she would call Mr. Sawyer; one of them would surely go to his assistance. She turned, and to her surprise found Swiss by her side, looking up at her with his large, intelligent eyes. Quick as lightning. Uncle Ike's story came back to her mind. She patted Swiss on the head, and pointed out into the storm. Not another word was needed. With a bound Swiss went iiito the snow and rapidly forward in the direction. of the road. Mandy was obliged to close the door again ■ and resume her place at the window. How her heart beat! How she watched the dog as he ploughed his way through the drifts? He must be near the place. Yes, he is scratch- ing and digging down into the snow. Now the dark form appears once more. Yes, Hiram is on his feet again and man and dog resume their fight with the elements. It seemed an age to Mandy, but it was in reality not more than five minutes, before Hiram and Swiss reached the kitchen door and came into the room, "Come out into the back room," said Mandy to Hiram. "I don't want this snow all over my kitchen floor." So Hiram and Swiss were taken into the big room and in a short time came back in presentable oondiition. "Now, Mr. Maxwell, if you have recovered the use of your tongue, will you kindly inform m'e w^hat sent you out in such a storm as this?" "Well," replied Hiram, "I reckoned I'd git down kinder early in the momin' and git back afore dark." "That's all right," said Mandy; "but that don't tell me what you are out for, anyway." "Well, you didn't suppose," said Hiram, "that I could go all day long without seein' you, did yer, Mandy?" SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 166 Mrs. Crowley chuckled to herself and went into the side room. Even Swiss seemed to recognize that two were company and he followed Mrs. Crowley and resumed his old resting place in the comer on the pallet. As Mrs. Crowley went about her work, she chuckled again, and said to herself, "It's a weddin' I'll be goin' to next time in place of a funeral." Upstairs other important events were taking place. Quincy had gone to his room directly after breakfast, and looked out upon the wild scene of storm with a sense of loneliness that had not hitherto oppressed him. Why should he be lonely? Was be not in the same house with her, with only a thin waJl of wood and plaster between them? Yes, but if that wall had been of granite one hun- dred feet thick, it could not have shut him oiif more effec- tually from seeing her lovely face and hearing her sweet voice. There came a sharp rap at the door. "Come in," called out Quincy. "Ah!" said Uncle Ike as he entered, "I am glad to see you have a good fire. The snow has blown down into Alice's room and her fire is out. Will you let her step in here for a few moments, Mr! Sawyer, until 'Zeke and I get the room warm again?" "Why, certainly," replied Quincy. "I am only too happy — " But Uncle Ike was off, and returned in a few moments leading Alice. Quincy placed a chair for 'her before the fire! This cold wintry day she wore a morning dress of a sihade of red which, despite its bright color, sieemed to harmonize with the golden hair and to take the place of the sun, which was not there to light it up. "If Miss Pettengill prefers," said Quincy, "I can make myself comfortalble in the dining-room, and she can have my room to herself." 166 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEE. He had started this speech to Uncle Ike, who left the room aibruptly in the middle of it, and Quincy's dosing words fell on Alice's ears alone. "Why, certainly not," said Alice ; "sit down, Mr. Sawyer, and we will talk about something. Don't you think it is terrible?" As Quincy was contemplating his fair visitor, he could hardly 'be expected to say "yes" to her question. "Perhaps you enjoy it?" said she. "I certainly do," answered Quincy, throwing his whole heart into his eyes. "Well, I must differ with you," said Alice. "I never did lik-e snow." "Oh, you were talking about the weather!" remarked Quincy. "Why, yes," 'said Alice. "What else did you think I was talking about?" Quincy, cool and self-possessed as he invariaibly was, was a trifle embarrassed. Turning to Alice he said, "I see. Miss Pettengill, that I must make you a frank statement in order that you may retain your respect for me. I know you will pardon me for not hearing what you said, and for what I am about to say; but the fact is, I was wondering whether you have had the best advice and assistance that the medical science of to-day can afford you as regards your eyes." "It is very kind of you, Mr. Sawyer, to think of me, and my trouble, and I will answer you in the same friendly way in which you have 'Spoken. I was taken sick one morning just as I was eating my breakfast I never felt better in my life than I did that morning, but *he pain in my side was so intense, so agonizing, that by the time I reached my room and threw myself on the bed, physically I was a complete wreck. A doctor was called at once and he remained with me from eight o'clock until noon before I became comfortable. I thought I was going to get better SOME MOKE KEW IDEAS. 167 right off, or I should have written to 'Zekiel. Two other attacks, each more severe than the one preceding, followed the first, and I was so sick that writing, or telling amy one else wihat to write, or where to write, was im,possit)le. Then I began slowly to recover, but I was very weak and what made me feel worse than ever was the fact that the trouble with my eyes, which before my illness I had attributed to nearsightedness, was now so marked that I could not see across the room. I could not even see to turn a spoonful of medicine from a bottle on the table beside my bed. The Pettengills, Mr. Sawyer, are a self-reliant race, and I con- cluded in my own mind that the trouble with my eyes was due to my illness, and that when I recovered from that, tihey would get well; but they did not. I was able, physically, to resume my work, but I could not see to read or write. I sent for my employer and told him my condition. He advised me to consult an oculist at once. In fact, he got a carriage and took me to one himself. The oculist said that the treatment would require at least three months; so my employer told me 1 had better come home, and that when I recovered I could have my place back again. He is a fine, generous-hearted man and I should be very miserable if I thought I was going to lose my place." "But what did the oculist say was the trouble with your eyes?'' Quincy asked. "He didn't tell me," replied Alice. "He may have told my employer. He gave me some drops to put in my eyes three times a day; and a little metaJ tube with a cover to it like the top of a pepper box; on the other end is a piece of rubber tubing, with a glass mouthpiece attached to it." "How do you use that?" asked Quincy. Alice continued, "I hold the pepper box in front of my wide-opened eye; then I put the glass mouthpiece in my mouth and blow, for a certain length of time. I don't know how long it is. It seems as though a thousand needles 168 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEB. were driven into my eyeball. The drops make me cry ; but the little tube brings the tears in torrents." "Isn't that harsh treatment?" asked Quincy, as he looked at the beautiful blue but sightless eyes that were turned towards him. "No," said Alice with a laugh, "the pain andi the tears are like an April shower, for both soon pass away." At this moment Uncle Ike entered the room and Eze- kiel's steps were heard descending the stairs. Uncle Ike said, "We. have got it started and 'Zeke's gone down to bring up a good stock of wood. If you have no objection, Mr. Sawyer, I will sit down here a few minutes. Don't let me interrupt your conversation." "I hope you will take a part in it," said Quincy. "You put a lot of new ideas into my head the first time I came to see you, and perhaps you may have some more new ones for me to-day. Miss Pettengill was just saying she would feel miserable if she lost her situation." "I have no doubt of it," said Uncle Ike. "The Petten- gills are not afraid to work. If a man is obliged to earn his living by the sweat of his brow, I don't see why woman shouldn't do the same thing." "But the home is woman's sphere," said Quincy. "Bosh!" cried Uncle Ike. "Why, Uncle!" cried Alice. "Oh, M'r. Sawyer understands me !" said Uncle Ike. "In the Middle Ages, .when women occupied the highest posi- tion that has fallen to her lot since the days of Adam, the housework was done by menials and scullions. Has the world progressed when woman is pulled down from her high estate and this life of drudgery is called her sphere? Beg your pardon, Mr. Sawyer, but there should be no more limit fixed to the usefulness of woman than there is to the usefulness of man.'' "But," persisted Alice, "I don't think Mr. Sawder means SOME MORE NEW IDEAS. 169 that exactly. He means a woman should stay ait home and look after her family." "Well," said Uncle Ike, "so should the man. I am in- clined to think if the father spent more time at home, it would be for the advamtage of both sons and daughters." "But," said Quincy, "do you think it is for the best in- terests of the community that woman should force her way into all branches of industry and compete with man for a livelihood?'' "Why not?" said Uncle Ike. "In the old days when they didn't work, for they didn't know how and didn't want to, because they thought it was beneath them, if a man died, his wife and children became dependent upon some brother or sister or uncle or aunt, and they were obliged to provide for them out of their own small income or savings. In those days it was respectable to be genteelly poor, and starve rather than work and live on the fat of the land. Nothing has ever done so much to increase the self-respect of woman, and add to her feeling of independence, as the knowledge of the fact that she can support herself." Alice bowed her head and covered her eyes with her hand. "There's nothing personal in what I say," said Uncle Ike. "I am only talking on general principles.'' Quincy yearned to say something against Uncle Ike's argument, but how could he advance anything against woman's work when the one who sat before him was a workingwoman and was weeping because she could not work? There was one thing he could do, he could change the subject to one where there was an opportunity for debate. So he said, "Well, Mr. Pettengill, I preisume if you are such an ardent advocate of woman's right or even duty to work, that you are also a supporter of her right to vote." "That does not follow," replied Uncle Ike. "To be self- reliant, independent, and self-supporting is a pleasure and a 170 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEK. duty, and adds to one's self-respect. As voting is done at the present day, I do not see how. woman can take part in it and maintain her self-respect. Improvements no doubt will be made in the manner of voting. The ballot will become secret, and the count will not be disclosed until after the voting is finished. The rum stores will be closed on voting day and an air of respectability will be given to it that it does not now possess. It ought to be made a legal holiday.'' "Granted," said Quincy, "but what has that to do with the question of woman's right to vote?" "Woman has no inherent right to vote," said Uncle Ike. "The ballot is a privilege, not a right. Why, I remember reading during the war that young soldiers, between eighteen and twenty-one years of age, claimed the ballot as a right, because they were fighting for their country. If voting is a right, what argument could be used against their claim?" "I remember," added Quincy, "that ithey argued that 'bullets should win ballots.' Do you think any bne should vote who cannot fight?" asked Quincy. "If he does not shirk his duty between eighteen and forty-five," said Uncle Ike, "be should not be deprived of •has ballot when he is older; but the question of woman's voting does not depend upon her ability to fight. The mother at home thinking of her son, the sister thinking of her brother, the wife thinking of her husband, are as loy- ally fighting for their native land as the soldiers in the field, and no soldier is braver than the hospital nurse, who, day after day and night after night, watches by the bed- sides of the wounded, the sick, and the dying. No, Mr. Sawyer, it is not a question of fighting or bravery." During the discussion Alice had dried her eyes and was [istening to 'her uncle's word's. She now asked a question, "When will women vote, Uncle?" SOMB MORE NEW IDEAS. 171 "When it is deemed expedient for them to do so,'' replied Uncle Ike. "The full privilege will not be given all at once. They will probably be allowed to vote on some one matter in which they are deeply interested. Education/ and the rum question are the ones most likely to be acted upon first. But the full ballot will not come, and now I know Alice will shake her head and say, 'No!' I repeat it — ^the full ballot will not come for woman until our social super- structure is changed. Woman will not become the political equal of man until she is his social and industrial equal; and until any contract of whatever nature made by a ijian and a woman may be dissolved by them by mutual consient, vnth- out their becoming criminals in the eye of the law, or out- casts in the eyes of society." At this moment Ezekiel looked in the dloor and said, "Alice's room is nice and warm now." Advancing, he took her ihand and led her from the room. Uncle Ike thanked Quincy for his kindness and followed them. Quincy sat and thought. The picture that his mind drew placed the woman wiho had just left his room in a large house, with servants at her command She was the head of the household, but no menial nor scullion. She did not work, because he was able and willing to support her. She did not vote, 'because sihe felt with him that at home was her sphere of usefulness; and then Quincy thougiht that whait would make this possible was money, money that not be but others had earned, and he knew that without this money the question could not be solved as his mind had pictured it; and he reflected that all women could not have great houses and servants and loving husbands to care for tihem, and he acknowledged to himself that 'his solution was a personal, selfish one and not one that would answer for the toiling millions of the working world. CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 71/1 ANDY was, of course, greatly pleased inwardly be- ■*•'*■ cause Hiram had come through such a great storm to see hej, but, woman-like, she would not show it. So she said to Hiram, "Your reason is a very good one, and of course I am greatly flattered, but there must be something else besides tliat. Now, what have you got to tell me?" "Well, the fact is, Mandiy, I've got itwo things on my mind. One of 'em is a secret and t'other isn't. I meant to have told you yesterday ; but Mr. Sawyer kept me busy till noon, and the Deacon kept me busy all the afternQo^n, and I was too tired to come over last night." "Well," said Mandy, "tell me the secret first. If the other one has kept so long it won't spoil if it's kept a little longer." Hiram had kept his eyes on the- sitove since taking his seat, and he then remarked, "I am afraid that cider will spoil unless I get a drink of it pretty soon." "Well, I declare," cried Mandy, "if I didn't forget to give it to you, after sending Mrs. Crowley down stairs for it, when you was out there in the road." "That's all right," said Hiram, as he finished the mugful she passed him, and 'handed it back to be refilled. "That sort o' limbers a feller's tongue a bit. Well, the secret is," said Hiram, lowering his voice, "that when Huldy saw me gettin' ready to go ot»t, sez she, 'Where are you goin'?' AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 173 'Over to Mr. Pettengill's,' sez I. Then sez she, 'Will you wadt a minute till I write a note?' 'Certainly,' sez I. And when she brought me the note, sez she, 'Please give that to Mr. Pettengill and don't let anybody else see it.' Then sez I to her, 'No, ma'am;' but I sez to myself, 'Nobody buf'Mandy.'" And Hiram took from an inside pocket ao envelope, addressed tol Mr, Ezekiel Pettengiill, and showed it to Mandy. Then he put it back quickly in his pocket. "Well, what of that?" asked Mandy. "That's no great secret." "Well, not in itself," said Hiram; "but I am willing to bet a year's salary agin a big red .apple that those two people have made up and are engaged reg'lar fasihion." "You don't say so," cried Mandy, "what makes you think so?" "Well, a number of things," said Hiram. "I overheard the Deacon say to Huldy, 'It will be pretty lonesome for us one of these days,' and then you see Mrs. Mason, she is just as good as pie to me all the time, and that shows some- thing has pleased her more than common; and then you see Huldy has that sort of look about her that girls have when .their market's made, and they feel so happy that they can't help showing it. You see, Mandy, I'm no chicken. I've 'had lots of experience." What Mandy might have said in reply to this remark will never be known, for at this juncture Ezekiel entered 'she room and passed through on his way to the wood-shed. "Now's my time," said Hiram, and he arose and followed him out. Ezekiel was piling up so^me wood whidh he was to take to Alice's room, when Hiram came up beside him and slyly passed him the note. Then Hiram looked out of the wood-shed window at the storm, which had lost none of its fury, while Ezekiel read the note. 174 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "Are you going home soon?" asked Ezekiel. "Well, I guess I'll try it again," said Hiram, "as soon as I get warm and kinder limbered up." "I guess I'll go back with you," said Ezekiel. "We will take Swiss with us ; two m&n and a dog ought to be enough for a little snowstorm like this." "You won't find it a little one," said Hiram, "when you get out in the road, but I guess the three on us can pull through." Ezekiel went upstairs with the wood and Hiram resumed his seat before the kitchen fire. "What did I tell you?" said Hiram to 'M'andy. " 'Zeke's going back with me. She has writ him to come over and see her. Now you see if you don't lose your apple." "I didn't bet," said Mandy; "but what was that other thing you were going to tell me that was no secret?" "O'h, that's about another couple," said Hiram. "Tilly James is engaged." "Well, it's about time," said Mandy. "Which one of them?" "Samuel Hill," replied Hiram, "and she managed it fust rate. You know the boys have been flocking round her for more than a year. Old Ben James, her pa, told me he'd got to put in a new hitchin' post. You see, there has been Robert Wood and 'Manuel Howe and Arthur Scates and Cobb's twins and Ben Bates and Sam Hill, but Samuel was the cutest one of the lot." "Why, what did he do that was bright?" asked Mandy. "Well," replied Hinam, "you see, Tilly sot down and writ invites to all the boys that had been sparkin' 'round her to come to see her tihe same night. She gave these invites to her brother Bill to deliver. Well, Sam Hill met him, found out what he was about, and kinder sur- mised what it all meant. Wall, the night came 'round and Sam Hill was the only one that turned up at the time AFTER THE GEEAT SNOWSTORM. 175 app'inted. After talkin' about the weather, last year's crops, and spring plantin', Sam just braced up and pro- posed, and Tilly accepted him on ■the spot." "Where were the other fellers?" asked Mandy. "I always surmised that she thought more of Ben Bates than she did of Sam Hill." "Well, it didn't come out till a couple of days afterwards," said Hiram. "You see, the shortest way to old James's place is to go over the mill race, and all of the fellers but Sam Hill went that way, and the joke of it was that they all fell over into the river and got a duckin'." "Well," said Mandy, "they must have been drinking. Tilly is well rid of the whole lot of them. Why, I've walked over that log time and tim'e again." "Well, they hadn't been drinkin'," said Hiram. "You see it was pretty dark and they didn't get on to the fact that flhe log was greased till it was kinder too late to rectify matters." "And did Sam Hill do that?" asked Mandy. "He did," said Hiram; and he burst into a loud laugh, in which Mandy joined. The laughing was quickly hushed' as the kitchen door opened and Ezekiel entered, warmly dressed for his fight with the snow and carrying a heavy cane in his hand. "Call the dog, Hiram," said Ezekiel, "and we'll start. Mandy, tell Jim and Bill to come over to Deacon Mason's for me about four o'clock, unless it looks too bad ; if it does they needn't try it till to-morrow morning.'' "All ready," said he to Hiram, who was patting Swiss's head, and off they started. Again Mandy went to the window and watched the pro'gress of the travellers. Mrs. Crowley came into the kitchen and seeing Miandy at the window quietly turned out a mug of the hot cider and drank it. She then ap- 176 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. preached Mandy and said, "What was all the laugliin' about? I like a good joke myself." Mandy said, "Oh, he was telling me about a girl that invited all her fellers to come and see her the same even- ing, and only one of them got there because he greased the log over the mill race, and all the rest of them fell into the water.'' "It was a mane trick," said Mrs. Crowley. "Mow, when all the boys were after me, for I was a good-lookin' girl once. Fat Crowley, he was me husband, had a fight on hand every night for a fortnight and all on account of me ; and they do say there were never sio many 'heads broken in the County of Tipperary on account of one girl since the days of St. Patrick." Mandy had paid but little attention to Mrs. Crowley's speech. She was too busy watching the travellers. Mrs. Crowley filled and emptied the mug once more. The last potation was t'OO much for her equilibrium, and forgetting the step that led from the kitchen to the side room, she lost her balance and fell prone upon the floor. Her loud cries obliged Mandy to turn from the window, but not until she had seen that the travellers had reached the fence before Deacon Mason's house, and she kn^ew they were safe for the present. Mrs. Crowley was lifted to her feet by Mandy. The old woman declared that she was "kilt intirely," but Mandy soon learned the cause of the accident, and returning to the kitchen closed the door and continued her mornimg duties. Before Ezekiel left the house he had interrupted Quincy's meditationis by knocking on 'his door, and when admitted told ihim that he" had had a letter from Huldy. "She is kind of lonesome," he said, "and wants me to come over to see her." "But it is a terrible storm." said Quincy, looking out of the ^vindow. AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 177 "Oh," said Ezekiel, "we'll be all right! Hiram is going with me, and we are godng to take Swiss along with us. Now, Mr. Sawyer, I am going to ask you to do me and Alice a favor. Uncle Ike is upstairs busy reading, and if you will kinder look out for Alice till I get back I shall be • greatly obliged." Quincy promised and Ezekiel departed. Quincy thought the faites had favored him in imposing upon him such a pleasant task. But where was she, and what could he do to amuse her? Then he thought, "We can sing together as we did yesterday." , He went down stairs to the parlor, thinking she might be there, but the room was empty. The fire was low, but the supply of wood was ample, and in a short time the great room was warm and comfortable. Quincy seated himself at the pianoi, played a couple of pieces and then sang a couple ; ihe did not think while singing the second song that he had possibly transcended propriety, but when he sang the closing lines of "Alice, Where Art Thou?" it suddenly dawned upon him, and, full of vexation, he arose and walked to the window and looked out oipon the howling storm. Suddenly he -heard a sweet voice say, "I am here." And then a low laugh re'ache*d his ear. Turning, he saw Alice standing in the middle of the room, while Mandy's retreating figure showed who had been her escort. Her brother Ezekiel had rigged a bell wire from her room to the kitchen, so that she could call Mandy when she needed her assistance. "I beg your pardon. Miss Pettengill," said Quincy, ad- vancing towards her. "The song has always been a favor- ite of mime, but I never thought of its personal application until I reached the closing words. I trust you do not think I was so presuming as to — " Alice smiled and said, "The song is also a favorite one of 178 QtriNCT ADAMS SAWYER. mine, Mt. Sawyer, and you &ang it beautifully. No apolo- gies are needed, for the fact is I was just saying to myself, 'Mr. Sawyer, where are you?' for 'Zekiel told me that fie was going to speak to you and ask you to help mie drive away those lonesome feelings that always come toi me on a day like this. I cannot see the storm, but I can hear it and feel it." As Quincy advanced towards her he saw she held several sheets of paper in her hand. "I am at your service," said he. "I am only afraid that your requirements will exceed my ability." "Very prettily spoken," said Alice, as Quincy led her to a seat by the fire, and took one him®elf. "I am going to confess to you," said she, "one of my criminal acts. I am going to ask you to sit as judge and mete out what you consider a suitable punishment for my offence." "W'hat crime have you committed?" asked Quincy gravely. Alice laughed, shook the papers she held in her hand, and said, "I have written poetry." "The crime is a great one," said Quincy. "But if the poetry be good it may serve to mitigate your sentence. Are those the evidences of your crime you hold in your hand, Miss Pettingill?" "Yes," she answered, as she passed a writtenj siheet to him; "I wrote them before my eyes failed me. Perhaps you will find it 'hard to read them. Which one is that?" she asked. "It is beaded, 'On the Banks of the Tallahassee,'" replied Quincy. "Oh!" cried Alice, "I didn't write that song myself. A gentleman friend., who is now dead, was the author of it. But he couldn't write a chorus and he asked me to do it for him. The idea of the chorus is moonlight on the river." "Shall I read it?" asked Quincy. AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 179 "Only the choras part, if you please," replied' Alice, "and 'be as lenient as you can, good Mr. Judge, for that was my first offence." Quincy, in a smooth, even voice, read the following words: The moon's bright rays. In a silver maze, Fall on the rushing river; Each ray of light Like an arrow white Drawn from a crystal quiver. They romp and play, In a wond'rous way, On tree and shrub and flower; And fill the night With a radiant light. That falls like a silver shower. "You do not say anything," said Alice, as Quincy finished reading and remained silent. He replied, "You have conferred judicial functions upon me and a judge does not give his opinion until the evidence is all in." "Ah! I see," said Alice. "My knowledge of metrical campoisition,'' she continued, "is very limited. What I know of it I leanned from an old copy of Fowler's Gram- mar that I bought at Burnham's on School Street soon after I went to Boston. I have always called what you just read a poem. Is it one?" she asked, looking up with a smile. "I think it is," replied Quincy, "and," he added inad- vertently, "a very pretty one, too." "Oh! Mr. Judge," laughing outright, "you Jiave given aid and comfort to the prisoner before the evidence was all in." 180 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. And Quincy was forced to laugh heartily at thife acute- ness she had shown in forcing his opindon from him prema- turely." "Now, this one," said AHce, "I call a song. I know which one it is by the size and thickness of the paper." And S'he handed him a foolscap sheet. Quincy took it and glanced over it .a moment or two before he spoke, Alice leaning forward and listening in- tently for the first sound of his voice. Then Quincy uttered those ever pleasing words, "Sweet, Sweet Home," and delivered, with great expression, the words of the song. "You read it splendidly," cried Alice, with evident de- light. "Would it be presuming on your kindness if I asked you to read the refrain and chorus once more, Mr. Sawyer?'' "I shall enjoy reading it again myself," remarked Quincy, as he proceeded to comply with Alice's pleasantly worded request. RBEmAIN: There is no place like home, they say. No matter where it be ; The lordly mansion of the ridh, The hut of poverty. The little cot, the tenement, The white-winged ship at sea; The heart will always seek its home. Wherever it may be. CHORUS: •Sweet, sweet home! To that sweet place where youth was passed our thoughts will turn; Sweet, sweet ho^me! Will send the blood to flaming face, and hearts will burr. AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 181 Sweet, sweet home! It binds us to ooir native land where'er we roam, No land so fair, no sky so blue, As those we find when back we come to sweet, sweet home ! "Of course you know that lovely song, 'Juanita'?'' said Alice. "Certainly," said Quincy, and he sang the first line of the chorus. Alice's voice joined in with his, and they finished the chorus together. A thrill went through Quincy as he szng the last line, and he was conscious that his voice quiv- ered when he came to the words, "Be my own fair bride." "You sing with great expression," said Alice. "If you like these new words that I have written to that old melody we can sing them together. I have called it Loved Days. I think this is the one," she said, as she passed 'him several small sheets pinned together. "It is," said Quincy, as he took the paper and read it slowly. As before, he said nothing when he had finished. "Mr. Judge," said Alice, "would it be improper, from a judicial point of view, for me to ask you whidh lines in the song you 'have just read please you the most? But per- haps," said she, looking up at him, "none of them are worthy of repetition." "If you will consider for a moment," replied Quincy, "that I am off the bench and am just sitting here quietly with yiou, I will siay, confidentially, that I am particularly well pleased with this ;" and he read a porti'on of the first stanza: On Great Heaven's beauties. Gaze the eyes I loved to see. Done earth's weary duties, Now, eternity. 182 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "And," continued Quincy, "I think these lines from the second stanza are fully equal to those I have just read." But my soul, still living-, Speaks its words of comfort sweet. Grandest promise giving That again we'll meet. "I should think," continued Quincy, "that those words were particularly well suited to be sung at a funeral. I shall have to ask my friend Bradley to have his quartette learn them, so as to be ready when I need tbem." "Oh! Mr. SawyiCr," cried Alice, with a strong tone of reproof in her voice, "how can you speak so lightly of death?" "Pardon me," replied Quincy, "if I have unintentionally wounded your feelings, but after all life is only precious to those who have something to live for." "But you certainly," said Alice, "can see something in life worth living for." "Yes," assented Quincy, "I can see it, but I am not sat- isfied in my own mind that I shall ever be able to possess It." "Oh, you must work and wait and hope!" cried Alice. "I shall be happy to/' he said, "if you will be kind and say an encouraging word to me, sO' that I may not grow weary of the battle of life." "I should be pleased to help you all I can," she said sweetly. "I shall need your help," Quincy remarked gravely, and then with a quick change in tone he said playfully, "I think it is about time for the. judge to get back upon the bench." "This," said Alice, as she passed him a manuscript enclosed in a cover, "is my capital offence. If I escape pun- AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 183 ishment for my oeher misdemeanors, I know I shall not when you have read this." And she handed him the paper. Quincy opened it and read, The Lord of the Sea, a Cantata. CHARA'CTBB.S. Canute, the Great, King of England and Denmark. A Courtier. An' Irish Harper. Queen Emma, the "Flower of Normandy." Courtiers, Monks, and Gleemen. PLiAOB. PaT't I. — The palace of the king. Part II. — ^Tlhe seashore at Southampton. Time' — ^About A. D. 1030. As he proceeded with the reading he became greatly interested in it. He had a fine voice and had taken a prize for oratory at Harvard. When he finisihed he turned to Alice and said, "And you wrote that?" "Certainly," said she. "Can you forgive me?" Quincy said seriously, "Miss Pettengill, that is a fine poem ; it is grand when read, but it would be grander still if set to music. I can imagine," Quincy continued, "how those choruses would sound if sumg by the H'andel and Haydn Society, backed up by a full orchestra and the big organ." And he sang, to an extemiporized melody of his own, the word's: God bless the king of the English, The Lord of the land. The Lord of the sea ! 184 QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYER. "I can imagine," said he, as be rose aind' stood before Alice, "King "Canute as a heavy-voiced basso. How he would bring out these words! Great sea! tihe land on which I stand, is mine; Its rocky shores before thy blows quail not. Thou, too, O ! sea, are part of my domain. And, like the land, must bow to my command. I'll sit me here! rise not, nor dare to toudh, With thy wet lips, 'the ermine of my robe! "And," cried he, for the moment overcome by ihis enthu- siasm, "how would this sound sung in unison by five hun- dred well-trained voices? For God alope is migihty. The Lord of the sea, The Lord of the land! For He holds the waves of the ocean In the hollow of His hand, And the strength of the mightiest king Is no more than a grain of sand. For God alone is mighty, The Lord of the sea. The Lord of the land!" As Quincy resumed has seat, Alice clapped her hands to show her approbation of his oratorical effort. Then they both sat in silence for a few minutes, each evidently absorbed in thought. Suddenly Alice spoke : "And now, Mr. Sawyer, will you let me ask you a serious question? If I continue writing pieces like these, can I hope to earn enough from it to support myself?" AFTER THE GREAT SNOWSTORM. 185 Quincy thought for a moment, and then said, "I am afraid not. If you would allow me to take them to Boston the next time I go I will try and End out th«ir market value, but editors usually say that poetry is a drug, and they have ten times as much offered them as they can find room for. On the other .hand, stories, especially short ones, are eagerly sought and good prices paid for them. Did you ever think of writing a story, Miss Pettengill?" "Oh, yes 1" said Alice, "I have several blocked out, I call it, in my own mind, 'but it is such a task for me toi write that I dare not undertake them. If I could afford to pay an amanuensis it would be different." Quincy comprehended the situation in a moment. "I like to write. Miss Pettengill," said he, "and time hangs heavily upon my hands. We are likely to have a long spell of winter weather, during which I shall be confined to the house as well as yourself. Take pity on me and give my idle hands something to do." "Oh, it would be too much tO' ask," said Alice. "But you have not asked," answered Quincy. "I have offered you my services without your asking." "But when could we begin?" asked Alice, hesitatingly. "At once," replied Quincy. "I brought with me from Boston a 'half ream of legal paper and a dozen good pen- cils. I can write faster and much better with a pencil than I can with a pen, and as all legal papers have to be copied, I have got into the halbit of using pencils for everything." It took Quincy but a few minutes to go to his room and secure his paper and pencils. He drew a table close to Alice's chair and sat down beside her. "What is the name of the story?" asked he. Alice replied, "I have called it in my mind, 'How He Lost B'Oth Name and Fortunie,' " CHAPTER XXIII. A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. IT must not be supposed that Alice's story was written out by Quincy in one or even two days. The oldest inhlabitants will tell yiou that the great snowstorm lasted three days and three nigihts, and it was not till the fourth day thereafter that the roads were broken out, so that safe travel between Eastborough Centre and Mason's Corner became possible. The day after the storm the sad intelligence came to Quincy and Alice that old Mr. Putnam had passed quietly away on the last day of the storm. Quincy attended the funeral, and he could inot 'help acknowledging to himself that Lindy Putnam never looked more beautiful than in her dress of plain black. The only ornament upon her was a pair of beautiful diamond earrings, but she always wore them, and consequently they were not obtrusive. Quincy bore an urgent request from Mrs. Putnam that Alice should come to see her. As the story was finished' and copied on the seventh day after the storm, Quincy had the old-fashioned sleigth brought out and lined with robes. Taking the horse Old Bill, that sleigth bells or snow slides could not startle from his equanimity, Alice was driven to Mrs. Putnam's, and in a few minutes was clasped to Mrs. Putnam's bosom, the old lady crying and laughing by turns. Quincy thought it best to leave 'them alone, and descend- ing ithe stairs he entered the parlor, the door being halfway open. He started back as he saw a form dressed in black, seated by the window. "Come in, Mr. Sawyer," said Lindy. "I knew you were A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. 187 here. I saw you when you drove up with Miss Pettengill. What a beautiful girl she is, and what a pity *hat she is Wind'. I hope with all my heart that she wtill recover her sight." "She would be pleased to hear you say that," remarked QuLncy. "We were never intimate," said Lindy. "You can tell her from me, you are quite the gallant chevalier, Mr. Saw- yer, and what you say to her will sound sweeter than if it came from other lips. Are you going to marry her, Mr. Sawyer?'' "I do not think that our acquaintance is of suah long standing that you are warranted in asking me soi personal a question," replied Quincy. "Perhaps not," said Lindy, "but as I happened to know, though not from your telling, that she is to be my ^mother's heiress, I had a little curiosity to learn whether you had already proposed or were going — " "Miss Putnam," said Quincy sternly, "d'o not complete your sentence. Do not make me think worse of you than I ialready do. I beg your pardon for 'intru'ding upon you. I certainly should not have done so had I anticipated such an interview.'' Lindy burst into a flood of tears. Her grief seemed un- controllable. Quincy closed the parlor door, thinking that if her cries and sobs were heard upstairs it would require a double explanation, which it might be -hard for him to give. He stood and looked at the weeping girl. She had evi- dently known all along who her mother's heiress was. She had been fooling 'him, but for what reason? Was she in love with him? No, he did not think so; if she had been she would have confided in him rather than have sought to force him to confide in her. What could be the motive for her action? Quincy was nonplussed. He had had 188 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. oonsiderabk experience with society girls, but they either relied upon languid grace or light repartee. They never used tears either for offence or defence. A surprise was in store for Quincy. Lindy rose from her chair and came towards him, her eyes red with weep- ing. "Why do you hate me so, Mr. Sawyer?" ahe asked. "Why will you not be a friend to me, when I need one so much? What first turned you against me?" Quincy replied, "I will tdl you, Miss Putnam. They told me you were ashamed of your father and mother because they were old-fashioned country people and did not dress as well or talk as good English as you did." "Who told you so?" asked Lindy. "It was common talk in the village," he replied. "I should think you had suffered enough from village gossip, Mr. Sawyer, not to believe that all that is said is true." Quincy winced and colored. It was a keem .thrust and went home. "Where tlhere is so much smoke there must be some fire," he answered, rather lamely, as ,he thought, even to himself. "■Mr. Sawyer, when I asked you to tell me a little secret you had in your possession, you refused. I wanted a friend, but I also wanted a proven friend. No doubt I took the wrong way to win your friendship, but I am going to tell you something. Mi". Sawyer, if you will listen to me, that will . at least secure your pity for one who is rich in wealth but poor in that sihe has no friends to whom she can confide .her troubles." Quincy saw that he was in for it, and like a gentlemain, determined to make the best of it, so he said, "Miss Put- nam, I will listen to your story, and if, after hearing it, I can ihonoroibly aid you I will do so with pleasure." A VISIT TO MRS. PUTNAM. i89 Lindy took his hand, which he had (half extended, and said, "Come, sit down, Mr. Sawyer. It is a long stofy, and I am nervous and tired," and she looked down at her black dress. They sat upon the sofa, he at one end, she at the other. "Mr. Sawyer," she 'began abruptly, "I am not a natural- born child of Mr. and Mrs. Putnam. 'I was adopted by them when but two years of age. I do not know who my father and mother were. I am sure Mrs. Putnam knows, but she will not tell me." "It could do no Iharm now that you 'are a woman grown," said Quincy. "At first they both loved me," Lindy continued, "but a year after I came here to live their son was born, and from that time on all was changed. Mr. Putnam was never unkind to me but once, but Mrs. Putnam seemed to take delight in blaming me, and tormenting me, and nagging me, until it is a wonder that my disposition is as good as it is, and you know it is noit very go'od," said she to Quincy with a little smile. She resumed her story: "I loved the little boy, Jones I always called him, and 'as we grew up together he learned to love me and took my part, although he was three years younger than myself. This fact made MrSi Putnam hate 'me more than ever. He stayed at home until he was twenty-two, then he -went to bis father and mother and told them that he loved me and wished to marry me. Both Mr. and M'rs. Putnam flew into a great rage at this. The idea of a brother marrying his sister! They said it was a crime and a s'acrilege, and the vengeance of God would surely fall upon us both. Jones told them he had written to a lawyer in Boston, and he had replied that there was no law prohibiting such a marriage. 'But the law of God shines before you like a flaming •sword,' said Mrs. Putnam ; and Mr. Putnam agreed with her, for she had all 'his property in her possession." Quincy smiled. "They 190 QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYEK. packed' Jones off to the city at once," said Lindy, "and his mother gave him five thousand dollars to go into' business with. Jones began speculating, and he was successful from first to last. In ithree months be paid back the five thou- sand dollars his motter had given him, and he never took a dollar from them after that day. At twenty-six he was worth one hundred thousand dollars. When I went to Bos- ton I always saw him, and he at last told me he could stand it no longer. He wanted me tO' marry him and go to Europe with him. I told him I must have a week to think it over. If I decided to go I would be in Boston on a cer- tain day. I would bring my trunk and would stop at a certain 'hotel and send word for him to' come to me. I used all possible secrecy in getting my clothes ready, and packed them away, as I thought, unnoticed, in my trunk, which was in the attic. Mrs. Putnam must have suspected that I intended to leave home, and she knew that I would not go unless to meet her son. The day before I planned going to Boston, or rather the night before, she entered my room while I was lasleep, took every particle of my clotihing, with the exceptiom of one house dress and a pair of slippers, and locked me in. They kept me! there for a week, and I wished that I 'had died there, for when they came to me it was to tell .me ithat Jones was dead, and I was the cause of it. I who loved him.so!" And the girl's eyes filled with tears. "What was the cause of his death?" asked Quincy. "He was young, healthy, and careless," answered Lindy. "He took a bad cold and it developed into -lung fever. Even then he claimed it was nothing and would not see a doctor. One morning he did not come to the office, his clerk went to his room', but when the doctor was called it was too late. It was very sad that he s'bould die so, believ- ing that I had refused to go with him, when I would have given my life for 'him. He loved me till deaitih. He left A VISIT TO MES. PUTNAM. 191 roe all his money, but in his will he expressed the wish that I would never accept a dollar from his parents. So now you see why Mrs. Putnam does not make me 'her heiress. You think I hate Miss Pettengill because she is going to give itto her, but truly I do not,- Mr. Sawyer. What I said when you came in I really meant, and I hope you will be happy, Mr. Sawyer, even as I hoped to be years ago." Quincy had been greatly interested in Lindy's story, and that feeling of sympathy for the unhappy and suffering that always sihows itself in a true gentleman rose strongly in his breast. "Miss Putnam," said he, "I have wronged you both in thought and action, but I never suspected what you have told me. Will you forgive me and allow me tO' be your friend? I will try to atone in the future for my misdoings in the past." He extended his hand, and Lindy laid hers in his. "I care not for the past," said sihe. "I will forget that. I have also to ask for forgiveness. I, too, have said and done many things which I would not have said or done, 'but for wom'anly spite and vanity. You see my excuse is not so good as yours,'' Siaid she, as she smiled through her tears. "In what way can I serve you?" asked Quincy. "Why do you not go to Boston and live? I could introdtice you to many pleasant families." "What!" cried Lindy. "Me, a waif and a stray! You are too kind->hearted, Mr. Sawyer. I shall not leave the woman every one but you thinks to be my mother. When sihe is dead I sihall leave Eastborough never to return. My sole object in life from that day will be to find some trace of my parents or relatives. Now it may 'happen that through Mrs. Putnam or Miss Pettengill you may get some clew itlhat will help me in my search. 'It is for this that I wish a friend, and I have a presentiment .that some day you will be able to help me." 192 ^ QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. Q'uincy assured her that if it lay in his power any time to be of assistance to ,her, she could count upon hdm. "By the way. Miss Putnam," said he, '%ow did your in- vestment with Foss & Follansbee turn out? I heard a rumor that the stock fell, and you lost considerable money." Lindy finished painfully. "It did drop, Mr. Saiwyer, but it rallied again, as you call it, and when they sold out for me I madie nearly five thousand dollars; but," and she looked pleadiin'g-ly uip into Quincy's face, "you have forgiven me for that as well as for my other wrong' doings." "For 'everything up to date," said Quincy, laughing. lAt that instant a loud pounding was heard on the floor above. "Mrs. Putniam is knocking for you," said Lindy. "Miss Pettengill must be ready to go home. Good-by, Mr. Saw- yer, and do not forget your unhappy friend." "I promise to remember her and her quest," siaid Quincy. He gave the little hand extended tohim a slight pressure and ran up the stairs. As he did so he heard the parlor dioor close behind himi. As they were driving home, Alice several times took what appeared to be a letter from; her muff .and held it up as thought trying to read it. Quincy glanced towards her. "Mr. Sawyer, can you keep a secret?" asked Alice. "I have a big one on my mind now," replied Quincy, "that I would like to confide tO' some one." "Why don't you?" asked Alice. "As soon as I can find a person whom I think can fully sympathize with me I shall do so, but for the present I must bear my burden in silence," said be. "I hope yiou will not have to wait long before finding that sympathetic friend," remarked Alice. "I hope so, too," he replied. "But I have not answered A VISIT TO MKS. PUTNAM. " 193 your question, .Miss Pettengill. Jf I can Sicrve you by sibaring a siecret with you, it shall be safe with me." "Will you promise not to speak of it, not even to me?" she asked. "If you wish it I will promise," ihe answered. "Then please read to. me what is written on that envelope." Q'uincy looked at the envelope. "It is written in an old- fasihioned, cramped hand," he said, "and the writing is 'con- fided to M'iss Alice Pettengill, and to be destroyed without being read by her within twenty-four 'hours after my death. Hepsibeth Putnam.' " "Tlhank you," said Alice simply, and she replaced the envelope in her muff. Like a flash of lightning the thougiht came to Quincy that the letter tO' be destrioyed 'had some connection with the strange story so recently told him by Lindy. He must take some action in the matter before it was too late. Turning to Alice he Said, "Miss Pettengill, if I make a strange request of you, which you can easily grant, will you do it, and not ask me for any explanation until after you have complied?" "Yiou ihave worded your inquiry so carefully, Mr. Sawyer, that I am a little afraid of you, you being a lawyer, but as you have so graciously consented to keep a secret with me, I will trust you and will promise to comply with your request." "All I ask is," said Quincy, "that before you destroy that letter, you will let me read tO' you once more what is written upon the envelope." "Why, certainly," said Alice, "how could I refuse so 'harmless aireqnest as that?" "I am greatly obliged for your kindness," said Quincy to her; but he thooig'ht to himself, "I will find out what is in that envd'ope, if there is any honomable way of doing so." 194 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. Hiram came over to' 'see Mandy ithat evening, and Mrs. Crowley, wiho was in the best of spirits, sang several old- time Irish songs to them, Hiram and Miandy joindnig in the choruses. They were roasting 'big red apples on the top of the sbove and chestnuts in the oven. Quincy, attracted by the singing, came dlown&tairs to the kitchen, and was invited to join in the simple feast. He then asked Mrs. Crowley to sing for him, which 'she did, and he repaid her by singing, "The Harp That Once Tihno' Tara's Halls" so sweetly that tears coursed down the old woman's cheeks, and she said, "My poor boy Tom, that was killed in the charge at Bala- klava, used to sing just like tha.t." Then the poor wioman began weeping so viiolently that Mandy coaxed her off to bed and left the room with (her. Wihen Hiram and Quincy were alone together, the latter said: "Any news, Hiram?" "Not much," replied Hiram. "The snow is too deep, and it's too darned cold for the boys to travel 'round and do mudh gossipin' this weather, A notice is pasted up on Hill's grocery that it'll be sold by auction nexit Tuesday at three o'clock in the afternoon. And I got on to one bit of news. Sbrout and ihis friends are goin' to give Huldy Mason a sur- prise party. They have invited me and Mandy simply be- cause they want you to hear all about it. But they don't propose to invite you, nor 'Zeke, nor his sister." "Has Strout got anybody to back him up on buying the grocery store?'' asked Quincy. "Yes," said Hiram, "he has got two thousand dollars pledged, and I ihear he wants five hundreid dollars more. He don't think the w'hole thing will run over twenty-five hundred dollars." "How much is to be paid in casih?" Quincy inquired. "Five hundred dollars," said Hiram; "and that's what troubles Strout. His friends will endorse his notes and take a mortgage on the store, for they know it's a good! "Mrs. Crovley" as she appears In the play. A VISIT TO MKS. PUTNAM. 195 payin' business. They expect to get their money back with good intefesit, 'but it comes kindor hard on them to plunk diown five ihundred dollars in cold cash." A:t that moment Matidy returned, and after asking her for a spO'on and a plate upon which to take a roast apple and some chestnuts upstairs, Quincy left the young couple together. As 'be sat before the fire enjoying his lunch, be resolved that he would buy that grocery store, coist what it might, and that 'Zeke Pettengill, Alice, and himself would go to that 'surprise party. CHAPTER XXIV. THE NEW DOCTOR. QUINCY improved the first opportunity offered for safe travellirrg' to make a visit to the city. He had sieveral matters to attend to. First, he had not sent his letter to his friend, requesting bim to make inquiries as to O'badiah Stoout's war record, for the gneat snowstorm had come the day after be bad written it. Second, he was going to take Alice's story to show to a literary friend, and see if he could secure its publication. And this was not all ; Alice had told 'him', after be bad finished copying .the story she had dictated to him, that she liad written several other short stories during the past two years. In response to bis urgent request, she- allowed him to ■read her treasured m^anuscripts. Tihe first was a passionate love story in which a young Spanish officer, stationed on tihe island of Cuba, aoid a beautiful young Cuban girl were the principalis. It was entitled; "Her NatJive Land," and was replete with .startling situations and effective tableaus. Quincy was delighited with it, and told Alice if dramatized it would make a fine acting play. This was, of course, very pleasing to the young author. Quincy was her amanuensis, ber audience, and the.r critic, and she knew that in his eyes sbe was already a success. She allso gave 'him to read a series of eight stories, in a line usually esteemed quite foreign, to feminine instincts. Alice bad conceived the idea of a young man, physically weak and sufifering from nervious debility, being left an immense Sortunie at the age of twenty-ione. His money was well invested, and in company with a faithful atbeadant he travelled for fifteen years, covering every nook and corner THE NEW DOCTOR. 197 of the habitable globe. At tbirty-sdx he returned home much improved in ibealth, but still having a marked aversion to engaging in any business pursuit. A mysterious case and its solution 'having been related to ihim, ihe resolved to devfote his income, now amounting to a million dollars yearly, to amateur detective work. His great desire was to ferret out and solve mysteries, murders, suicides, rob- beries, and disappearances that baffled the police and eluded their vigilant inquiry. The titles that Alice had ohosen for her stories were as mysterious, in their way, as the stories themselves. Ar- ranged in *he order of their writing, they were: Was it Signed? The Man Wlithout a Ton^e; He Th:ougbt He Was Dead; The Eigiht of Spades; The Exit of Mrs. Del- monnay; How I Caught the Fire-Bugs; The Hot Hand; and The Mystery of Unreacihable Island. When Quincy reached the city, his first visit was to his father's office, buit he found him absent. He was told that he was conducting a case in the Equity Session of the Supreme Court, and would not return to the office that day. Instead of leaving 'his letter at his friend's office, he went directly to the Adjutant-General's office at the State House. Here he found that an acquaintance lof his was em^ployed as a clerk. He was of foreign birth, but had served gal- lantly throug^h ithe war and had left an arm upon the battle- field. He made 'his request for a copy of the war record of Obadiah Strout, of the — it'h iM'ass. Volunteers. Then a thought came suddenly to him and he requested one also of the record of Hiram Maxwell of the same regiment. Leaving the State House on the Hancock Avenue side, be walked down that narrow but convenient thoroughfare, and was standing at its entrance to the sidewalk on Beacon Street, debaiting wihioh publisher he would call on first, when a aheery voice said, "Hello, Sawyer." When he 198 QUIITCT ADAMS SAWYEK. looked up he saw an old Latin School ati'd college chum, tiamed Leopold Ernst. Ernst was a Jew, but he had been one of the smartest and miosit ipopular of the 'boys in school an/d of the men at Harvard. "What are you up to?" asked Ernst. "Living 'on my small fortune and my father's bounty," said Quincy. "Not a very creditable record, I know, but my health has niot been very good, and I have been resting for a couple of months in the country." "Not much going on in the country at this timie of the year I fancy," remarked Ernst. "That's where you are wrong," said Quincy. "There has been the devil to pay ever since I landed in the town, and I've got mixed up in so many complications that I don't expect to get back to town before next Christmas. But what are you doing, Eirost?" "Oh, I am in for literature; not the kind that consists in going round wibh a notebook and prying into people's busi- ness, with a hope one day of becoming an editor, and work- ing twenty hours out of the twenty-four each day. Not a bit of it, I am reader for — > — ;" and he mentioned the name of a large publisihing house. "I have my own hours and a comfortable salary. I sit like Solomon upon the efiforts of callow authors and the productions of ripened genius. Somietimes I discover a diamond in the rough, and introduce a new star to the literary firmament; and at other times I cut up some egotistical old writer, who thinks anything he turns out will be sure to please the public." "How foirtunate that I have met you?" said Quincy. "I have in this little carpet bag the first efifusions of one of those callow authors of whom you spoke. She is poor, beautiful, and blind." "Don't try to trade on my sympathies, old bioy," said Ernst. "No person who' is poor has. any right to become an author. It takes too long in these days to make a hit, THE NEW DOCTOR. 199 and the poor author is bound to die before ithe hit comes. The 'beautiful' gag don't work with me at all. The best authors are homelier than san and it's a pity that their pic- tures are .ever published. As regards the 'blind' part, that may be an advantage, for dictating relieves one of the drudgery of writing one's self, and gives one a chance for a fuller play of one's fancies than if tied to a piece of wood, a scratchy pen, and a bottle of thick ink." "Then you won't look at them," said Quincy. "I didn't say so," replied Ernst. "Of course, I can't look at them in a business way, unless .they are duly sub- mitted to my bouse, but I have been reading a very badly written, but mightily interesting 'manuscript, for the past tw.o days and a half, and I want a change of work or diver- sion, to brush up my wits. Now, old fellow," said he, taking Q'Uincy by the arm, "if you will co'me up to the club with me, and have a good dinner with som^ Chianti, and a glass or two of champagne, and a pousse cafe to finish up with, then we Will go up to my room.s on Chestnut Street — I have a whole top fi'oor to myself — we will light up our cigars, and you may read to me till to-morrow moirning and I won't murmur. But, mi.nd you, if the stories are mighty poor I may go to sleep, and if I do that, you migiht as well go to 'bed toO', for when I once go to sleep I never wake up till I get good and ready." Quincy had intended after seeing a publisher to leave the manuscripts for examination, then to' take tea with, his mother and sisters, and go back to Eastborough on the five minutes paiSt six express. But he was prone to yield to fate, which is simply circumstances, and be accepted his old College chum's invitation with alacrity. He oould get the opinion of an expert speedily, and that fact carried the day with him. When they were oomforttably ensc.o.nced in their easy- chairs on tihe top floor, and the cigars lighted, Quincy com- 200 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. menced reading. Leopold had pweviously shown him his suite, whioh <:onsis.ted of a parlor, or rather a sittingiroom, a library, which included principally the works of standard authors and reference books, his sleeping apartment, and a bathioomk There was a large ibed lounge in tihe sitting-fl-O'Oimi, and Quincy determined to read every story in ihis carpet bag, if it took him all night. He commenced with the series of detective or mystery stories. He had read' them over before and was able to bring out their strong points oratonioally, for, as it has been said before, he was a fine speaker. Quincy eyed Ernst over the cornier of the manuscript he was reading, but the latter understood his business. Occa- siionaJly be was betrayed into a nod of approval and several times shook 'his head in a negative way, but he uttered no word of commendation or disapproval. After several of the stories had 'been read, Ernst called a halt, and going to a cupboard brought out some crackers, cake, and a decanter of wine, with glasses, which he put upon a table, and placed within comfortable reach of both reader and listener. Then he said, "Go ahead," miunched a cracker, sipped 'his wine, and then lighted a fresih cigar. When the series was finiished, Leopold said, "Now we will have some tea. I do a good deal of my reading at home, and I don't Hke to gO' out again after I ihave crawled up lour flights of stairs, so^ my landlady sends me up a lig'ht supper at just about this hour. There is the maid now," as a light knock was heard on the door. Leopold opened it, and the do'mestic brought in a tray with a pot of tea and the ingredients of a light repast, whidh she placed upon another table near a window. "There is always enough for two," said Leopold'. "Read- ing is mighty tiresome work, and listening is too, and a cup of good strong tiea will brighten us both up immensely. THE NEW DOCTOR. 201 You can come back for the tray in fifteen minutes, Jennie," said Ernst. The supper was finished, the tray removed, and) the critic sait in judgment once more upon the words that fell from the reader's lips. Leopold's face lighted u,p during the reading of "H'er Native Land." He started to 'speak, and the word "That'si — ■'" escaped him, but he recovered himself and said no more, though he listened intently. Quinc^ took a glass of wime and a cracker before start- ing upon the story which had been dictated to him. Leo- pold gave no sign of falling asleep, but patted his hands lightly together alt certain points in the story, whether contemplatively or approvingly Quincy could not deter- mine. As he read the closing lines of the last manuscript the cuckoO' clock struck twelve, midnight. "You are a mighty good reader, Quiincy," said Leo- pold, "and barring fifteen minutes for refreshments, you have been ait it ten hours. Now you want my opinion of those stories, and what's more, you want my advice as to the best .place to put them to secure their approval and early publication. Now I am going to smoke a cigar quietly and think the wthole thing over, and' at half past twelve I will give you my opinion in writing. I am going into my li'brary for half an hour to write down what I have to say. You take a nap on the lounge there, and you will be re- freshed when I come back after having made mince meat of your poor, beajutiful, h\xnA protege.'^ Leopold diisappeared into the library, and' Quincy stretching himself O'U the lounge, rested', but did not sleep. Before be had realized that ten minutes had passed, Leopold stood beside him with a letter sheet in his hand, and said, "Now, Quincy, read this to me, and I will see if I have got ilt down straight." Quincy's hand trembled nervously as he seated himself 202 QUINCY ADAMS 8AWYEK. in Ms old position, and tufning the sheet so that the light would fall upon it, he reaid the following: Opinion 'of Leopold Ernst, Literary Critiic, of certain miantiscripts submitited for examdnaition by Quincy A. Saw- yer, with some advioe gratis. 1. Series of eight stories. Mighty clever general idea; good stories well written. Same style maintained through- oiat; good plots. Our house could not handle them— not of our line. Send to . (Here followed the name of a New York publisher.) I will write Cooper, one o{ their readers. He is a friend of mine, and will secure quick de- cisiott, which, I prophesy, ■vMl be favorable. 2. "Her Native Land" is a fine story. I can get it into a weekly literary paper that our house publishes. I know Jameson, the reader, will take it, especially if you would give him the right to dramatize it. He is hand and glove with all the theatre managers and has had several successes. 3. That story about the Duke, I want for our magazine. It is capital, and has enougih meat in it to make a full-blown novel. Alll it wants is oysters, soup, fish, entrees, and a dessert prefixed to and joined on to the solid roast and game which the story as now written itself 'supplies. In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, this 24th day of February, 186 — . Leopold Ernst, Literary Critic. Quincy remained all night with Leopold, sleeping on the bed lounge in the sitting-room. He was up at six o'clock the next 'morning, hut found that his friend was also an early riser, for on entering the library he saw the latter seated at his desk regarding the pile of manusorfpt which Quincy had read to him. Leopold looked up with a peculiar expression on his face. ".What's the matter," asked Quincy, "changing your mind?" THE NEW DOCTOR. 203 "No," said Leopold, "I never do that, il: would spoil my value as a reader if I did. My decisions are as fixed as ihhe laws of the Medes and Persians, and are regarded by literary aspirants as being quite as severe as the statutes of Draco ; but the fact is, Quincy, you and your protege — ^you see I 'oonsider you equally culpable — ^have neglected to put any real name or pseudonym to these interesting stories. Of course I can afifix the name of fhe most popular author that the world has ever known, — Mr. Anonymous, — 'but you two probably have some pet name that you wish immor- talized." "By George I" cried Quincy, "we did forget that. I will talk it over with her, and send you the nom. de plume by mail, "Very well," said Leopold, rising. "And now let us go and have siome breakfast." "My dear fellow, you must excuse me. I have not seen my parents this trip, and I ought to go up to the house and take breakfast with the family." "All right," said Leopold, "rush that pseudonym right along, so I can send the manuscripts to Cooper. And don't forget to drop in and see me tiext time you come to the city." On 'his way to Beacon Street Quincy suddenly stopped and regarded a sign ■that read, Paul Culver, M. D., physician and surgeon. He knew Culver, but hadn't seen him for eig'ht years. They were in the Latin School together under pater Gardner, He rang the bdll and was shown into Dr, Culver's office, and in a few minutes his old schoolmate en- tered, Paul Culver was a tall, broad-chested, heavily-built young man, with frank blue eyes, and hair of the color that is sometimes irreverently called, or rather the wearers of it are called, towheads. They had a pleasant talk over old school days and college experiences, which were tlot identical, for Paul had grad- 204 QTJINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. uated from Yale College at his father's desire, instead pf from Harvard. Then Quincy broached what was upp^er- most in his mind and which had been the real reason for his call. He stated briefly the facts concerning Alice's case, and asked Paul's advice. Dir. Culver salt for a few moments apparently in deep study. "My advic«," said he, "is to see Tillotson. He has an office in the Hotel Pelham, up by the PuMic Library, you know." "Is he a 'regular'?" asked Quincy. "Well," said Culver, "I don't think he is. For a fact I know he is not an M. D., but I fancy that the diploma that he holds from the Almighty is worth more to suffering humanity than a good many issued by the colleges." "You are a pretty broad-minded allopath," said Quincy, "to g'ive such a sweeping recommendation to a quack." "I didn't say he was a quack," replied Culver. "He is a natural-born healer, and he uses only nature's remedies in his practice. Go and see him, Quincy, and judge for your- self." "But/' said Quincy, "I had hoped that you — '' "But I couldn't," broke in Paul. "I am an emergency doctor. If baby has the croup, or Jimmy has the measles, or father has the lung fever, they call me in, and I get them well as soon as possible. But if mother-in-law has some obscure compla'int I am too busy to give the time to study it up, and they wouldn't pay m'e for it if I did. Medicine, like a great many other things, is going into the hands of the specialists eventually, and Tillotson is one of the first of the new sobool." At that moment a maid announced that some one wished to see Dr. Culver, and Quincy took a hurried leave. He found his father, mother, and sisters at home, ,and breakfast was quickly served after his arrival. They all THE NEW DOCTOR. 205 said he was looking much better, and all asked him when he wais coming home. He gave an evasive answer, saying that there were lots of good timesi coming down in East- .borough and he didn't wish to miss them. He told his father he was improving his time reading and writing, and would give a good account of himself when he did return. He had to wait an hour before he could secure an inter- view with Dr. Tillotson. The latter had a spare day in ea<6h week, that day being Thttrsday, which he devoted to cases that he was obliged tO' visit personally. Quincy arranged with him to visit Eastborougih on the following Thursday, and by calling a carriage managed to catch the half-past eleven train for that town, and reached his boarding place a little before two o'clock. He had arranged with the driver to wait for a letter that he wished to have mailed to Boston that same afternoon. He went in by the back door, and as ihe passed through the kitchen, Mandy made a sign, and he went to her. "Hiram waited tiill one o'clock," said she, "but he had to go home, and he wanted me to tell you that the surprise party is coming off next Monday night, and they are going to get there at seven o'clock, so as to have plenty of time for lots of fun, and Hiram suspects," and her voice fell to a whisper, "that Strout is going to try and work the Deacon for that five hundred in cash to put up for the grocery store next Tuesday. That's all," said she. "Where is Miss Pettengill?" Quincy inquired'. "She's in the parlor," said Mandy. "She has been play- ing the piano and singing beautifully, hut I guess she has got tired." Quincy went 'directly to the parlor and found Alice seated before the open fire, her right hand covering her eyes. She looked up as Quincy entered the room and said, "I am so glad you've got back, Mr. Sawyer. I have been very lonesome since you have been away." 206 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEE. Alice did not see the hoippy smile 'bhat spread over Quincy's face, and he covered up his pleasure by saying, "How did you know it was I?" "Oh," said Ailice, "my hearing is very acute. I know the step of every penson in the .house. Swiss has been with me all the morning, but he aisked a few minutes ago to be excused, so he could get bis dinner." Quincy lauglhed, and then said, "M'iss Pettengill, we for- got a very important matter in connection with your stories; we omitted to put on the name of the author." He told her of his meeting with Ernst, and what had taken place, and Alice was dedigJited. Quincy did not refer to the ooming visit of Dr. Tillotson, for be did not mean to speak of it until the day appointed arrived. "Now, Mifes Pettengill, I have somie lebtens to write to send back by .the hotel car- riage, so that tihey can be mailed this afternoon. While I am doing this you can decide upon your pseudonym, and I will put it in the letter that I am going to write to Ernst." Quincy went up to his room and sat down at his writing table. The first letter was to his bankers, and endosed a check for five ihundred dollars, with a requelst to send the amount in bils by Adams Express to Eastborougih Centre, to reach there not later than noon of the next Tuesday, and to be held until called for. The second letter was to a piroiminent confeabioner and caterer in Boston, ordering enough ice cream, sherbet, frozen pudding, and assorted cake for a party of fifty persons, and fifty grab-bag presents; all to reach Ealsitborough Centre in good order on Mionday night on the five minutes past six express from Boston. The third letter was to Ernst. It was short and to .the point. "The pseudonym is — " And he left a blank space for the name. Then 'he signed his own. He glan.ced over this writ- ing table and saw the three poemis that Alice had given him to read. He added a postscript .to his letter to Ernst. It read as follows: THE NEW DOCTOK. 20t "I enclose tliree poems written by the same person who wrote the stories. Tell me what you think of them, and if you can place them anywhere do so, and this shall be your warrant therefor. Q. A. S." When his mail was in readiness he went downstairs to the parlor, taking a pen and bottle of ink wiith him, and saying to himself, "Tihat pseudonym shall not be written in pencil.'' "I am in a state of hopeless indecision," remarked Alice. "I can think of Christian names that please me, and sur- names that please me, but when I put them together they don't please me at all." "Then we. will leave it to fate," said Quincy. He tore a sheet of paper into six pieces and passed three, with a book and pencil, to Alice, "Now you write," said he, "three Christian names that please you, and I will write three surnames that please me; then we will put the pieces in my hat, and you will select two and what yOu select shall be the name." "That's a capital idea," said Alice, "it is harder to select a name than it was to write the story." The slips were written, placed in the hat, shaken up, and Alice selected two, which she held up for Quincy to read. "This is not fair," said Quincy. "I never thought. Both of ithe slips are mine. We must try again." "No," said Alice, "it is 'Kismet.' What are the names?" she asked. "Bruce Douglas, or Douglas Bruce, as you prefer," said Quincy. "I like Biruce Douglas best," repilied Alice. "I am so glad," said Quincy, "that's the name I should have selected myself." "Then I will bear your name in future," said Alice, and Quincy thought to himself that he wished she had said thosie words in response to a question that was in his mind. 208 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. but which 'be bad decided it was not yet time to ask her. He was too much of a gentleman to irefer in a joking man- ner to the words which Alice had spoken and which liad been uttered with no thought or idea that they bore a double meaning. Quincy wrote the selected name in the blank space in Leopold's letter, sealed it and took his mail out to the car- riage driver, who was seated in, the kitchen enjoying a piece of mince pie and a mug of cider which Mandy had given him. As Qu'incy entered the kitchen 'he beard M^ndy say, "How is 'Bias nowadays?" "Oh, dad's all right," said the young man ; "he is going to run Wallace Stackpole again for tax collector against Obadiah Strout." "Is your name Smith?'' asked Quincy, advancing with the letters in his hand. "Yes," replied' the young man, "my name is Abbott Smith. My dad's name is 'Bias; he is pretty well known 'round these parts." "I 'have beard of bim," said Quincy, "and I wish to see him and Mr. Stackpole together. Can you come over for me next Wednesday miorning and bring Mr. Stackpole with you? I can talk to him going back, and I want you to drive us over to your father's place. Don't say anything aibout it except to Mr. Stackpole and your father, but I am going to take a hand in town politics this year." The young man laughed and said, "I will be over here by eight o'clock next Wednesday." "I wish you would have these letters weighed at the post office, anid if any more stamps are needed please put them on. Take what is left for your trouble," and Quincy passed Abbott a half dollar. He heard the retreating carriage wheels as ihe went up- stairs to his room. He made an entry in his pocket diary, THE NEW DOCTOR. 209 anr. In fact, he was 'beginning to think, the more his mind dwelt upon the subject, that he had taken an inexcusable liberty in arranging for Dr. Tillotson to come down without first speaking to her, or at least tO' her brother or uncle. But the deed) was done, and he must find some way to have her see the doctor, and get his opinion ^b'out her eyes. Quincy spent so much time revolving this ma.tter in his mind, that he was quite astonished when he looked around and found himself at the exact place where he spoke those words to Huldy Miason that 'had ended in the accident. This time he gave careful attention to horse and hill and curve, and a moment later he drew up the sleigh at Deacon Mason's front gate. Mrs. Mason welcomed them at the door and they were SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 213 shown into the parlor, where Huldy sat at the piano. The young girls greeted each other warmly, and Mrs. Mason and Huldy both wished Quincy and Alice to stay to tea. They declined, saying they had many letters to read before supper and 'Zekid would think 'something had happened to them if they did not come home. "I will send Hiram down to let them know," said Mrs. Mason. "You must really excuse us this time," protested Quincy. "Some other time perhaps Miss Pettengill will accept your hospitality." "But when?" asked Mrs. Mason. "We might as well fix a time right now." "Yes," said Huldy, "and we won't let them go till they promise." "Well, my plan," said Mi-s. Mason, "is this. Have 'Zekiel and Alice and Mr. Sawyer come over next Monday after- noon about five o'clock, and we will have tea at sax, and we will have some music in the evening. I have so missed your singing, Mr. Sawyer, since you went away." "Yes," said Huldy, "I think it is real mean of you, Alice, not to let him come and see us oftener." Alice flushed and stammered, "I — I — I do not keep him from coiminig to see you. Why, yes, I ihave too," said she, as a .thought flashed through her mind. "I will tell you the truth, Mirs. Mason. Mr. Sawyer offered to do some writing for me, and. I have kept him very busy." She stopped amd Quincy continued: "I did do a little writing for her, Mrs. Mason, during the great snowstorm, and it was as great a pleasure to me, as I hiope it was a help to her, for I had nothing else to do." "Well," said Mirs. Mason, "you can settle that matter bdtween yer. All that Huldy- and me wants to know is, will all three of you come and take tea with us next Mon- day night?" 214 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER, "I shall be greatly pleased to do so," said Quincy. "If 'Zekiel wall come, I will," said Alice, and Quincy for an instant felt a slight touch of wounded feeling because Alice had ignored him entirely in accepting the invitation. As they drove home, Alice said: '*Mrs. Mason managed that nicely, didn't she? I didn't wish to appear too eager to come, for Huldy 'miigiht have suspected." "What mystery is this?" asked Quin'cy. "I really don't know what you are talking about." "What!" said Alice. "Didn't 'Zekiel tell you about the surprise party that Mr. Strout was getting up, and that you, 'Zekiel, and I were not to be invited?" "Oh! I see," said Quincy. "H'ow stupid I have been! I knew all ahout it and' that it was to be next Monday, but Mrs. Mason asked us so honestly to come to tea, and Huldy joined in so heartily, that for the time being I got things mixed, atid besides, to speak frankly, Miss Pettengill, I was thinking of something else." "And What was it?" asked Alice. "Well," said Quincy, determined to break the ice, "I will tell you. I was wondering why you said you would dome to tea if 'Zekiel would come." "Oh!'' said Alice, laugihing. "You thought I was very ungenerous to leave you out of the question lentirely." "Honestly I did think so," remarked Quincy. "Well, now," said Alice, "I did it from the most generous of motives. I thought you knew about the surprise party as well as I did. I knew 'Zekiel would go with me and I thought that perhaps you had some other young lady in view for your companion." "What?" asked Quincy. "Whom- could I have had in view?" "Shall I tell you whom I think?" asked Alice. "I wish you would," Quincy replied. SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 215 "Well," said Alice, "I thouig'ht it migiht be Lindy Put- nam." Quincy bit his lip and gave the reins a savage jerk, as he turned up the short road that led to the Pettengill house. "What could make you think that. Mass Petten- gill?" "Well, I have only one reason to give," Alice replied, "for that opinion, but the fact is, when we made our call on Mrs. Putnam 'she pounded on the floor three times with her crutch before you came upstairs. Am I justified, Mr. Sawyer?" "I'm afraid you are," said Quincy. "I should have thouglht so myself if I 'had been in your place." But when he reaohed his room he threw his letters on the ta:ble, his ooat and hat on the bed, and .thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked rapidly up and down the room, saying to himself in a savage whispicr, "Confound that Putnam girl ; she is a hoodoo." Quincy was philosophical, and his excited feelings soon quieted down.' It would oome out all right in the end Alice would find that he had not intended to take Miss Putnam to the surprise party. He could not betray Lindy's confidence just at that time, even to justify himself. He must wait until Mrs. Putnam died. It might be years from' now before the time came to destroy that letter, and he could not, until then, disclose to Alice the secret that Lindy had confided to him. Yes, it would come out all right in the end, for it imight be if Alice thought he was in love with Lindy that sihe would give more thoug'ht to him. He had read somewhere that oftentimes the best way to awaken a dormant love was to appear to fall in love with some one else. Somewhat reconciled to the situation by (his thoughts, he sat down to read his letters. The first one that he took up was from the confectioner. It informed him that his 216 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYER. order wou'ld receive prompt attention, and the writer thanked him £or past favors and soHcited a continuance of the same. The second was from Ernst. It was short and to the point, and written in his oharacteristic style. It said: "Dear Quincy: — Pseudonym received. Bruce Douglas is a name to conjure with. It smacks, of 'Auld Lang Syne.' The Scotch are the only people on the face of the earth who were never conquered. You will remember, if you haven't forgotten your ancient history, that the Roman general sent back word to his emperor that the d — .d country wasn't worth conquering. Enclosures also at hand. TIhe shorter ones are more songs than poems. I will turn them over to a music publisher, who is a friend of mine. W^U report his decision later. "I gave the long poem to Francis Lippitt, the well-known composer, and he is delighted with it and wishes tO' set it to music. He is great on grand choruses, Bach fugues, and such like. If he sets it to music he will have it sung by the Handel and Haydn Society, for he is a great gun among them just now. The eight stories have reached New York by this time, and James'on is reading 'Her Native Land.' "With best regards to Mr. Bruce Douglas and yourself. Leopold Ernst. The third letter was from' the Adjutant-General's office, and Quincy smiled as he finished the first sheet-, ftflded it up and replaced it in tJie envelope. As he read the second the smile left his face. "Who would have thought it?" he said to himself. "Wdl, after all, heroes are made out of strange material. He is the man for my money and I'll back him up, and beat that braggart." On the followinig Sunday, after dinner, Quincy had a dhat with Uncle Ike. He took the opportunity of asking tihe old gentleman if he was fully satisfied with the progress towards recovery that his niece wais making. SOME PLAIN FACTS AOT) INFEKENCES. 217 "I don't see that she is ^making any progress," said Uncle Ike frankly. "I don't think slie can see a bit better than she could when she came ihome. In fact, I don't think she can see as well. She had a pair of glasses made of black rubber, with a pinhole in the centre of them, that she could read a little with, but I notice now that she never puts them on." "Well," remarked Quincy, "perhaps I have taken an unwarrantable liberty. Uncle Ike; but when I was last in Boston I heard of a new doctor whO' has made some wour derful cures, and I have engaged him to come down here next week and see your niece. Of course, if you object I will write to bim not to come, and no harm will be done." Quincy did not think it necessary to state that he had paid the doctor his fee of one hundred dollars in advance. "Well," said Uncle Ike, "I certainly sha'n't objedt, if the doctor can d'o her any good. But I should like to know something about the course of treatment, the nature of it, I mean, before she gives up her present doctor." "That's just what I mean," said Quincy. "I want you to be so kind as to take this whole matter oflf my bands, just as though I had made the arrangement at your suggestion. I am going down for the doctor next Thursday noon. Won't you ride down with me and meet Dr. Tillotson? You can talk to him on the way home, and then you can manage the whole matter yourself, and do as you think best about changing doctors." "You have been very kind to my niece, Mir. Sawyer, since you have been here," said Uncle Ike, "and very help- ful to her. I attribute your interest in her case to your kindness of heart and a generosiity which is seldom found iti the sons of millionaires. But take my advice, Mr. Saw- yer, and let your feelings stop there." "I db not quite understand you," repJied Quincy, though from a sudden sinking of Hs heart he felt that he did. 218 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER, "TheH I will Speak plainer," said Uncle Ike. "Don't fall in love with my niece, Mr. Sawyer. She is a good girl, a S'weet girl, and some might call her a beautiful one, but she has her limitations. She is not fitted to sit in a Beacon Street parlor; and your parents and' sisters would not be pleased to have you place her there. Excuse an old man, Mr. Sawyer, but you know wisdom cometh with age, al- though its full value is not usually appreciated by the young." Quincy, for the first time in his life, was entirely at a loss for a reply. He burned to declare his love then and there; but how could he do so in the face of such a plain statement of facts? He did the best thing possible under the circumstances; he quietly ignored Uncle Ike's advice, and thanking him for his kindness in consenting to meet the new doctor he baidie hyn good afternoon and went to has room. After Quincy bad gone Uncle Ike rubbed has hands together gleefully and shook with laughter. "The sly roguel" he said to himself. "Wanted Uncle Ike to help him out." Then he laughed again. "If be don't love her he will take my advice, but if he does, whait I told Wm will drive him on like spurs in the side of a horse. He is a good fellow, a great deal better than Ws father and the rest of bis family, for he isn't stuck up. I like ihim, but my Alice is good enough for him even if be were a good deal better than lie is. How it would tickle me to hear my niece calling the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer papa!" And Uncle Ike laughed until his siides shook. Monday promised to be a dull day. 'Zekiel told Quincy at breakfast, after .the others had left the table, that Alice had spoken to bim about Mrs. Mason's invitation to tea, and, of course, he was going. Quincy said that he had accepted the invitation and would be pleased to accompany him' and his sister. SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFE^BENCES. S19 After breakfast he 'heard AHce singling in the parlor, and joining her there told her that he had received a letter from Mr. Ernst, which he would like to read to her. Alice was delighted with the letter, and they both laug'hed 'heartily 'Over it, Quincy humorously apologizing for the swear word by saying thai being historical it could not be profane. Alice had in -her 'hand the two letters that she had re- ceived on Saturday. "Have you answered your letters?" 'he asked. "No, I have ijot even heard them read," she replied. "Uncle Ike has grown 'tired all at once and won't read to me nor write for me. I don't understand him at all. I sent for him yesterday afternoon, after you came down, and told him what I -wanted him to do. He sent back word that he was too busy and I must get somebody else, but whO' can I get? Mandy and 'Zekiel are both too much occupied with their own duties to 'help me." "If I can be of any service .to you, 'Miss Pettengill, you know — " "Oh, I don't think I should dare to let you read these letters," interrupted Alice, laughing. "No doubt they are from two of my lady friends, and I have always heard that men consider letters that women write to each other very silly and childisih." "Perhaps I have not told you," said Quincy, "that I have two sisters and am used to that sort of thing. When I was in college hardly a day passed that I did not get a letter from one or the other of them, and they brightened up my life immensely." "What are their names and how old are they?" asked Alice. "The elder," replied Quincy, "is nineteen and her name is Florence Estelle." "What a sweet name!'' said Alice. 220 QUINCy ADAMS SAWYER. "The younger is between fifteen and sixteen, and is named Maude Gertrude." "Is she as dignified as her name?" asked Alice. "Far from it," remarked Quincy. "She would be a tom- boy if she had an opportunity. Mother and father call them Florence and Maude, for they both abhor nicknames, but among ourselves they are known as Flossie, or Stell, and Gertie." "What was your nickname?" asked Alice. "Well," said Quincy, "they used to caU me Quinn, but bhat had a Hibernian sound to it, and Maude nicknamed me Ad, which she said was short for adder. She told me she called me that because I was so deaf that I never heard her when she asked me to take her anywhere." "Well, Mr. Sawyer, if you will promise not to laugh out loud, I will be pleased to have you read these letters to me. You can smile all you wish to, for of course I can't see you." "I agree," said Quincy; and he advanced towards her, took the two letters and drew a chair up beside her. "My dear May," read Quincy. He stopped suddenly, and turning to Alice said, "Is this letter for you?" "Before we go any further," said* Alice, "I must explain my various names and nicknames. I was named Mary Alice, the Mary being my mother's name, while the Alice was a favorite of my father's. Mother always called me M'ary and father always called 'me Alice ! and brother 'Zekiel and Unole Ike seem to like the name Alice best. When I went to Commercial College to study they asked me my nam.e and I said naturally Mary A. Pettengill. Then the girls began to call me May, and the boys, or young men I suppose you call them, nicknamed me Miss Atlas, on account of my initials. Now that I have given you a chart of my names to go by, the reading will no doubt be plain sailing in future." SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 221 Quincy laughed and said, "I should call it a M. A. P. instead of a chart." "Fie! Mr. Sawyer, to make such a joke upon my poor name. No doubt you have thought of one that would please you better than any I have mentioned.'' Quincy thought he had, but he wisely refrained from saying so. He could not help thinking, however, that Miss Atlas was a very appropriate name for a girl who was all the world to him. It is evident that Uncle Ike's words of advice the previous afternoon 'had not taken very deep root in Quincy's heart. He resumed Ms reading: "My dear May: — How are you getting along in that dis- mal country town, and how are your poor eyes? I know you can't write to me, but I want you to know that I have not forgotten you. Every tim^e I see my sister, Stella, she waves your photoigraph before my eyes. You know you .prom- ised me one before you were sick. Just send it to me, andi it will be just as nice as a good, long letter. As somebody else will probably read this to you, in order to keep them from committing a robbery I send you only one kiss. From your loving, Emma Farnum." "Are you smiling, Mr. Sawyer?" asked Alice. "Not at all," he answered. "I am looking grieved be- cause Miss Farnum has such a poor opinion of me." Alice laughed merrily. "Emma is a very bright, pretty girl," said Alice. "She boarded at the same house that I did. Her sister Stella is married to a Mr. Dwight. I will answer her letter as she suggests by sending her the prom- ised photograph. On the bureau in my room, Mr. Sawyer, you will find an envelope containing six photographs. I had them taken about a month before I was sick. Under- 222 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER, . nea'th you will find some heavy envelopes that the photo- grapher gave me to mail them in." Quincy went upstairs three steps at a time. He found the package, and imipelled by an inexplicable curiosity he counted the pictures and found there were seven. "She said six," he thought to himself. "I am positive she said there were only six." He took one of the pictures and put it in one of the mailing envelopes. He took another pic- ture, and after giving it a long, loving look he placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, and with a guilty flush upon his face he fied from the room. Just as he reached the open par^lor door a second thought, which is said to be the best, came to him, and he was about turning to go upstairs and replace the picture when Alice's acute ear heard him and she asked, "Did you find them?'' Quincy, seeing that retreat was liow impossible, said, "Yes," and resumed his seat beside her. "Did you find six?" said Alice. "Ther-e are five upstairs in the envelope and one here ready to address,'' replied Quincy. "Her address," continued Ahce, "is Miss Emma Far- num, care Cotton & Co., Real Estate Brokers, Tremont Row." Quincy went to the table, wrote the address as directed, and tied the envelope with the string attached. "I am afraid the 'Other letter cannot be so easily an- swered," said Alice. "Look at the signature, please, and see if it is not fromi Bessie White." "It is signed Bessie," said Quincy. "I thought so," exclaimed Alice. "She works for the same firm that I did." Quincy read the followimg: "My dear May : — ^I know that you will be glad to learn what is going on at the great dry goods house of Borden, SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 223 Waitt, & Fisher. Business is good, and we girls are all tired out when night comes and have to go to a party or the theatre to get rested. Mr. Ringgold, the head book- keeper, is disconsolate over your absence, and asks one or more Oif us every morning if we have heard from Miss Pettengill. Then, every afternoon, he says, 'Did I ask you this morning how Miss Pettengill was getting along?' Of course it is his devotion to the interest of the firm that leads him to ask these questions." Alice flushed slightly, and turning to Quincy said, "Are you smdling, Mr. Sawyer? There is nothing in it, I assure you; Bessie is a great joker and torments the other girls unmercifully." "I am glad there is nothing in it," said Quincy. "If 1 were a woman I would be afraid to marry a bookkeeper. My household cash would have to balance to a cent, and at the end of the year he would insist on housekeeping showing a profit." Alice regained her composure and Quincy continued his reading: "What do you think! Rita Sanguily has left, and they say she is going to marry a Dr. Culver, who lives up on Beacon Hill somiewhere." Quincy started a little as he read this, but made no com- ment. "I was out to see Stella Dwight the other day, and she showed me a picture of you. Can you spare one to your old friend, Bessie White. "P. S. — 'I don't expect an answer, but I shall expect the picture. I shall write you whenever I get any news, and send you a dozen kisses and two big hugs. B. W." 224 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTER. "She is more liberal than Miss Famum,'* remarked Quiincy. "She is not afraid that I will commit robbery." "No," rejoined Alice, "but I cannot share with you. Bessie White is the dearest friend I have in the world." "Miss White is fortunate," said Quincy, "but who is Rita Sanguily, if I am not presuming in asking the^ ques- tion?" "She is a Portuguese girl," answered Alice, "with black eyes and beautiful black hair. She is very handsome and can talk Portuguese, French, and Spanish. She held a cer- tain line of custom on this account. Do you know her?" "No," replied Quincy, "but I think I know Dr. Culver." "What kind of a looking man is he?" asked Alice. "Oh! he is tall and heavily built, with large bright blue eyes and tawny hair," said Quincy. "I like such imarked contrasts in husband and wife,'' re- marked Alice. "So do I," said Quincy, looking at himself in a looking glass whioli hung opposite, and then at Alice; "but how about Miss White's picture?" "Can I trouble you to get one?" said Alice. "No trouble at all,'' replied Quincy ; but he went up the stairs this time one step at a time. He was deliberating whether he shoul'd return that picture that was in his coat pocket or keep it until the original should be his own. He entered the room, took another picture and another en- velope and came slowly downstairs. His crime at first had been unpremeditated, but his persistence was deliberate felony. "Now there are four left,'' said Alice, as Quincy entered the room. "Just four," he replied. "I counted them to make sure." He sat at the table and wrote. "Will this do?'' he asked: "Miss Bessie White, care of Borden, Waitt, & Fisher, Bos- ton, Mass.?" k.cur.d*^ SOME PLAIN FACTS AND INFERENCES. 225 "Oh, thank you so much," said Alice. At this moment Mandy appeared at the door and an- nounced dinner, and Quincy had the pleasure of leading Alice to her accustomed seat at the table. "I took the liberty while upstairs," said Quincy, "to glance at a book that was on your bureau entitled, 'The Love of a Lifetime.' Have you read*it?" "No," replied Ahce. "I comimenoed it the night before I was taken sick." "I shall be pleased to read it aloud to you," said Quincy. "I should enjoy listening to it very much," she replied. So after dinner they returned to the parlor and Quincy read aloud until the descending sun again sent its rays through the parlor windows to fall upon Alice's face and hair, and Quincy thought to himself how happy he should be if the fair girl who sat beside him ever became the love of his lifetime. Alice finally said she was tired and must have a rest. Quincy called Mandy and she went to her room. A few moments later Quincy was in his own room and after lock- ing his door sat down to inspect his plunder. Alice did not rest, however; something was on her mind. She found her way to the bureau and took up the pictures. "Only four," she said to herself, after counting them. "Let me see," she continued, "the photographer gave me thirteen, — a baker's dozen he called it. Now bo whom have I given them? 'Zekiel, one; Uncle Ike, two; Mrs. Putnam, three; Stella D wight, four; Bessie White, five: Emma Farnum, six; Mr. Ringgold, seven; Mr. Fisher, eight. That would leave five and I have only four. Now to whom did I give that other picture?" And the guilty thief sat on the other side of the parti- tion and exulted in his crime. There came a loud rap at his door, and Quincy started up so suddenly that he dropped the picture and it fell to the floor. He caught it up quickly 226 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. and placed it in his pocket. As he unlocked the door and opened it he heard loud rapping on the door of Miss Pet- tengiU's room. Looking into the entry he saw 'Zekiel, who cried out, "Say, you folks, have you forgotten that you have been invited out to tea this evening, and that we are going to give a surprise party to Mr. Strout and his friends? I am all dressed and the sleigh is ready." Without waiting for a reply he dashed downstairs. While Quincy was donning his s-ober suit of black, with a Prince Albert coat and white tie, Alice had put on an equally sober costume of fawn colored silk, with collar and cuffs of dainty lace, with little dashes of pink ribbon, by way of contrast in color. CHAPTER XXVI. THE SURPRISE PARTT. A FTER Alics had taken her place on the back seat in -**■ the double sleigh, Quincy started to take his place on the front seat, beside 'Zekiel, but the latter motioned him to sit beside Alice, and Quincy did so without needing any urging. As 'Zekiel took up the reins, Quincy leaned forward and touched him on the shoulder. "I've just thought," sadd he, "that I've made a big blun- der and I can't see how I can repair it." "What's the matter?" asked 'Zekiel; and Alice turned an inquiring face towards Quincy. "The fact is," Quincy continued, "I ordered some ice cream and cake sent down from the city for the show to- night, but I forgot, I am asbamed to say, to make arrange- ments to have it sent up to Deacon Mason's. It will be directed to him, but the station agent won't be likely to send it up before to-morrow." "What tim^e is it?" asked 'Zekiel. Quincy looked at his watch and replied, "It is just half- past four." "Why do we go so eariy?" inquired Alice, "they will not have tea till six." "Oh," said 'Zekiel, "I intended to give you a sleigh ride first anyway. Now with this pair of trotters I am going to take you over to Eastborough Centre and have you 'back at Deacon 'Mason's barn door in just one hour and with appe- tites that it will take two suppers to satisfy." With this 'Zekiel whipped up his borses and they dashed 228 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTER. 0& towards the town. A short distance beyond Uncle Ike's chicken coop they met Abner Stiles driving home from the Centre. He nodded to 'Zekiel, but Quincy did not notice him, being engaged in conversation with Alice at the time. They reached the station, and Quincy gave orders to have the material sent up, so that it would arrive at about half- past nine. 'Zekiel more than kept his promise, for they reached Deacon Mason's barn at exactly twenty-nine min- utes past five. Hiram was on hand to put up the horses, and told Quincy in a whisper that some of the boys thought it was mighty mean not to invite the Pettengill folks and their boarder. The sharp air had whetted the a)ppetites of the travellers during their six-mile ride, and they did full justice to the nicely-cooked food that the Deacon's wife placed before them. Supper was over at quarter before seven, and in half an hour the disihes were washed and put away and the quartette of young folks adjourned to the parlor. Quincy took his seat at the piano and began playing a popular air. "Oh, let us sing something," cried Huldy. "You know I have been taking lessons from Professor Strout, and he says I have improved greatly. If he says it you know it must be so; and, did you know Alice, that 'Zekiel has a fine baritone voice?" "We used to sing a good deal together," said Alice, "but I was no judge of voices then." "Well, 'Zeke don't know a note of music," continued Huldy, "but he has a quick ear and he seems to know natu- rally just how to use his voice." "Oh, nonsense," said 'Zekiel, "I don't know how to sing, I only hum a little. Sing us something, Mr. Sawyer," said he. Quincy sang a song very popular at the time, entitled "The Jockey Hat and Feather." All four joined in the THE SURPRISE PARTY. 229 chorus, and at the close the room rang with laughter. Quincy then struck up another popular air, "Pop Goes the Weasel," and this was sung by the four with great gusto. Then he looked over the music on the top of the piano, which was a Bourne & Leavitt square, and found a copy of the cantata entitled, "The Haymakers," and for half an hour the solos and choruses rang through the house and out upon the evening air. Mrs. Mason looked in the door and said, "I wouldn't sing any more now, it is nearly eight o'clock." And thus admonished they began talking of Tilly James's engagement to Sam Hill and the sale of the grocery store, which was to come off the next day. "I wonder who will buy it?" asked Huldy. "Well, I hear Strout has got some backers," said 'Zekiel, "but I don't see what good it will be to him unless he is appointed postmaster. They say he has written to Wash- ington and applied for the position." Quincy pricked up his ears at this. He had almost for- gotten this chance to put another spoke in Mr. Strout's wheel. He made a mental memorandum to send telegrams to two Massachusetts congressmen with whom he was well acquainted to hold up Strout's appointment at all hazards until they heard from him again. A little after seven o'clock the advance guard of the sur- prise party arrived at Hill's grocery, which was the ap- pointed rendezvous. Abner Stiles drew Strout to one side and said, "I saw the Pettengill folks and that city feller in 'Zeke's double sleigh going over to the Centre at about five o'clock." "So much the better," said Strout. "Do you know where they've gone?" inquired Stiles. "No, but I guess I can find ou't," Strout replied. He had spied Mandy Skinner among a crowd of girls on the platform. He called her and she came to him. 230 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. "Did Mr. Pettengill and his sister take tea at home to- night?" "No," said Mandy. "I told them I was going away to- night, and Mr. Pettengill said they were going away too. And Cobb's twins told me at dinner time that they wouldn't be home to supper; and as I didn't wish to eat too much, considering what was coming later, I didn't get no supper at all. I left Crowley to look out for Uncle Ike, who is always satisfied if he gets toast and tea." "Don't you know where they've gone?" inquired Strout. "Over to the hotel, I guess," said Mandy. "I heard Mr. Sawyer tell Miss Alice that they had good oysters over there, and she said as how she was dying to get some raw oysters.'' "Things couldn't have worked better," remarked Strout, as he rejoined Abner, who was smoking a cheap cigar. "Tlhe Pettengill crowd has gone over to the hotel to sup- per. You ought not to smoke, Abner, if you are going to kiss the girls to-night," said Strout. "I guess I s'ha'n't do much kissin'," replied Abner, "ex- cept what I give my fiddle with the bow, and that fiddle of mine is used to smoke." Strout looked around and saw that the whole party had assembled. There were about fifty in all, very nearly equally divided as regarded numbers into fellows and girls. "Now I am going ahead," said Strout, "to interview the old lady, before we jump in on them. The rest of you just follow Abner and wait at the top of the hill, jusit round the corner, so that they can't see you from the house. I have arranged with Hiram to blow his bugle when everything is ready, and when you hear it you just rush down hill laugh- ing and screaming and yelling like wild Injuns. Come in the back door, right into the big kitchen, and when Miss Huldy comes into the room you just wait till I deliver my speech.'' THE SUEPKISE PARTY. 231 Strout started off, and the party followed Abner to the appointed waiting- place. Strout knocked ligihtly at the kitchen door, and it was opened by Mrs. Mason. "Is the Deacon at home?" inquired he, endeavoring to disguise his voice. "No," said Mrs. 'Mason, "he has gone to Eas'tborough Centre on some business, but told me he would be back about half past nine." "Is Hiram here?" asked Strout. "He's out in the kitchen polishing up his bugle," said Mrs. Mason. "But come in a minute, Mr. Strout, I have gioit something to tell you." Strout stepped in and quietly closed the door. "What's the matter, Mrs. Mason? I hope Huldy isn't sick." "No," said she, "it's unfortunate it has happened as it has, but it couldn't be avoided. You see she invited some company to tea, and I supposed that they would have gone home long 'fore. this. You see, Huldy don't suspect noth- ing, and she has asked them to spend the evening, and I don't see how in the world I am going to get rid of them." "Don't do it," said Strout. "Extend to them an invita- tion in my name to remain and enjoy the evening's festivi- ties with us. No doubt Miss Huldy will be pleased to have •them stay.'' "I know she will," said Mrs. Mason, "and I'll give them your invite as soon as you're ready." "Well, Mrs. Mason," said Strout, "just tell Hiram I am ready to have him blow that bugle, and when you hear it you can just tell your daughter and her friends what's up." ■Hiiram soon joined Strout outside the kitchen door. The latter went out in the road and looked up the hill to see if his party was all ready. Abner waved his hand, and 232 QUIlSrCY ADAMS SAWYER. Strout rushed back to Hiram and cried, "Give it to 'em now, Hiram, and do your darnedest!" Huldy and her friends were engaged in earnest conver- sation, when a loud blast burst upon the air, followed by a succession of piercing notes from Hiram's old cracked bugle. Huldy jumped to her feet and exclaitned, "What does Hiram want to blow that horrid old bugle at this time of night for? I will tell ma to stop him." She started towards the parlor door, when the whole party heard shouts of laughter, screams from female voices, and yells from male ones that would have done credit to a band of wild Comanches. All stood still and listened. Again the laughter, screams, and yells were heard. This time they seemed' right under the parlor window, A look of surprise and almost terror passed over Alice's face, and turning to Quincy unthinkingly sihe said in a low whisper, "What was that, Quincy? What does it mean?" Quiincy's heart jumped as his Christian name fell from the girl's lips. He put his left hand over his heart (her picture was in the pocket just beneath it) and said as natu- rally as he could, although with a little tremor in his voice, "It's all right, Alice, that's Mir. Strout's idea of a surprise party." "A surprise party!" cried Huldy, "who for? Me?" At this moment Mrs. M'ason opened the door and entered the room. "Huldy," said she, "Professor Strout wishes me to tell you that he and his friends have oome to give you a sur- prise party, and he wished me to invite you," turning to the others, "as Huldy's friends to remain and enjoy the fes- tivities of the evening." Then the poor old lady, who had been under a nervous strain for the past ten days, and who had come nearer tell- 'Samanthy Green" as she appears in the play. THE SURPRISE PARTY. 233 ing untruths than she ever had before in her life, began to laugh, and then to cry, and finally sank into a chair, over- come for the momenl:. "I wish Abraham was here," said she, "I guess I'm get- ting a little bit nervous." Let us return to the great kitchen, which the members of the, surprise party now had in their possession. A dozen of the men produced lanterns, which they lighted, and which were soon hung upon the walls of the kitchen, one of the number having brought a hammer and some nails." It was a pound party, and two young men fetched in a basket containing the goodies which had been brought for the supper. Strout had made arrangements to have the ihot coffee made at the grocery store, and it was to be brought down at half-past nine. He arranged his party so that all oould get a good view of the door through which Huldy must come. He stepped forward within ten feet of the door and stood expectantly. Why this delay? Strout looked around' at the party. There were Tilly James and Sam Hill; Cobb's twins, and each brought a pretty girl; Robert Wood, Benjamin Bates, and Arthur Scates were equally well supplied; Lindy Putnam, after much solicitation, had consented to come with Em- manuel Howe, the clergyman's son, and he was in the seventh heaven of delight; Mandy stood beside Hiram and his bugle, and Samantha Green had Farmer Tomp- kins's son George for escort. It was a real old-fashioned, dem'ocratic party. Clergymen's sons, farmers' sons, girls that worked out, chore boys, farm hands, and an heiress to a hundred thousand dollars, met on a plane of perfect equality without a thought of caste, and to these were soon to be added more farmers' sons and daughters and the only son of a millionaire. "Just give them a call," said Strout, turning to Hiram, and the latter gave a blast on his bug'le, which sent fingers 234 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. to the ears of his listeners. The handle of the door turned and opened and Huldy entered, her mother leaning upon her arm. They were greeted by hand dapping and cries of "Good evening" from the party, and all eyes were fixed upon Strout, who stood as if petrified and gazed ajt the three fig- ures that came through the open door and stood behind Huldy and her mother. Hamlet following the fleeting apparition on the battlements of the castle at Elsinore, Macbeth viewing Banquo at his feast, or Richard the Third gazing on the ghostly panorama of the murdered kin'gs and princes, could not have felt weaker at heart than did Pro- fessor Strout when he saw the new-comers and realized that they were there by his express invitation. The members of the surprise party thought Strout had forgotten his speech, and cries of "Speech!" "Speech!" "Give us the speech!" fell upon his ear, but no words fell from his lips. It was a cruel blow, but no cruder than the unfounded stories that he had started and circulated about the town for the past three months. Those who had thought it was mean not to invite the Pettengills and Mr. Sawyer enjoyed' his discomfiture and were the loudest in calling for a speech. The situation became somewhat strained, and Huldy looked up to Quincy with an expression that seemied to say. How are we going to get out of this? Quite a number of the party saw this look and imme- diately began calling out, "Mr. Sawyer, give us a speech!" "A speech from Mr. Sawyer!" Huldy smiled and nodded to Quincy, and then there were loud cries of "Speech! "Speech!" and clapping of hands. Abner Stiles got up and gave his chair to Professor Strout, who sank into it, saying as he did so, "I guess it was the heat." THE SURPRISE PARTY. 235 Quincy stepped forward and bowing to HJuldy and then to Mrs. Mason, addressed the party in a low but dearly dis- tinct voice. "Authorized by these ladies to speak for them, I desire to return sincere thanks for this manifestation of your re- gard for them. Your visit was entirely unexpected by Miss Mason and a great surprise to her. But it is a most pleas- ant surprise, and she desires me to thank you again and again for your kind thoughts and your good company this evening. She and her mother join in giving you a most hearty welcome. They wish you to make yourselves at home and will do all in their power to make the evening a happy one and one long to be remembered by the inhab- itants of Mason's Corner. The inception of this happy event, I learn, is due to Professor Strout, who for some time, I understand, has been Miss Mason's music teacher, and the ladies, whose ideas I am expressing, desdre me to call upon him to take charge of the festivities and bring them to a successful close, as he is no doubt competent and willing to do." Quincy bowed low and retired behind the other members of the party. Quincy's speech was greeted with cheers and more clap- ping of hands. Even Strout's friends were pleased by the graceful compliment paid to the Professor, and joined in the applause. Strout had by this time fully recovered his equanimity. A chair was placed upon the kitchen table and Abner Stiles was boosted up and took his seat thereon. While he was tuning up his fiddle the Professor opened a package that one of the girls handed to him and passed a pair of knitted woollen wristers to each lady in the company. He gave three pairs to Huldy, who in turn gave one pair to her mother and one to Alice. There were several pairs over, 236 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. as several girls who had been expected to join the party had not come. "Now, Mrs. Mason," said the Professor, "could you kindly supply me with a couple of small baskets, or if not, with a couple of milk pans?" The Professor took one of the pans and Robert Wood the other. "The ladies will please form in line," cried the Professor; which was done. "Now will each lady," said the Professor, "as she marches between us, throw one wrister in one pan and t'other wrister in the other pan? Give us a good, lively march, Abner," he added, and the music began. The procession passed between the upheld pans, one wrister of each pair thrown right and the other left, as it moved otf. The music stopped. "Now, will the ladies please form in line again," said the Professor, "and as they pass through each one take a wrister from the pan held by Mr. Wood." The music started up again and the procession moved forward and the work hake and said, "Hiram, I think you're all right. I've decided to buy that grocery store for you for two reasons. The first is that you have served me well; Mlandy has been very kind and attentive to m«, and I want to see you both prosper and be happy. My second reason relates to the Professior, and, of course, dbes not need any explanation, so far as you're concerned. Now, you go up to the house, put on your best suit of clothes, tell the Deacon that I want your company this afternoon; I will drive up your way about two o'clock, and we will go to the auction." While these events were taking place, otibers, perhaps equally interersting, were transpining in another part of Mason's Corner. The Professor had not arisen until late, but ten o'clock found him dressed in his best and survey- ing his personal appearance with a pleased expression. He felt that this was a day big with the fate of Professor Strout and Mason's Corner! When he left Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house he w&nt straig'ht to Deacon Mason's. "Is the Deacon in?" he asked, as pleasant jfaced Mi-s. Mason opened the door. TOWN POLITICS. 266 "No, he has gone over to the Cemtre. He said he'd got to go to the bank to get some money for somebody, but that he'd be back 'tween 'leven and twelve." "Oh, that's all right," said Strout, stepping inside the door; "is Mass Hiildy in?" "Yes, she's in tihe parlor; she went in to practise on her music lesson, ibut I guess she's reading a book instead, for I haven't beard^ the piano since she went in half an hour ago. "Waal, I'll step in and have a little chat with her whilst I'm waiting for the Deacon," said the Professor;. "but you just let me know as soon as the Deacon comes, won't you, Mrs. Mason?" M'rs. Masonk replied that she would, and the Professor opened the parlor door and stepped in. "Oh, good morning, Miss Mason," said the Professor ; "I hope I see you enjoying your usual good health after last evening's excitement." Huldy arose and shook bands with the Professor. "Oh, yes," said she, "I got up a little late this morning, but I never felt better in my life. It was very kind of you, Mr. Strout, and of my other friends, to show your ap- preciation in such a pleasant manner, and I shall never for- get your kindness." "Waal, you know, I've always taken a great interest in you, "Miss Mason." "I know you have in my singing," answered Huldy, "and I know that I have improved a great deal since you have been giving me lessons." "But I don't refer wholly to your sin'gin'," said the Pro- fessor. "Oh, you mean my playing,'' remarked Huldy. "Well, I don't know that I shall ever be a brilliant performer on the piano, but I must acknowledge that you have been the cause of my improving in ■that respect also." "Waal, I don't mean," continued the Professor, "jest 266 QUINCT ADAMS SAYVYEE. your singin' and your playin'. I've been interested in you as a whole." "I don't exactly see what you mean by that, Mr. Strout, unless you mean my ability as a housekeeper. I am afraid if you ask my mother, she will not give me a very flattering recommendaition." "Oh, you know enough about housekeepin' to satisfy me," said the Professor. Huldy by this time divined' what was on the Professor's mind ; in fact, she had known it for some time, but had as- sured herself that he would never have the courage to put hiis hints, and suggestions, and /allusion's, into an actual de- claration. So she replied with some asperity, "What made you think I was looMng for a situation as housekeeper?" "Oh, nothin'," said he, "I wasn't thinkin' anythin' about what I thought you thought, but I was a-thinkin' about somethin' that I thought myself." Huldy looked up inquiringly. "What would you say," asked' the Professor, "if I told you that I thought of gettin' married?" "Wellj" replied Huldy, "I think my first quesition would be, 'have you asked her?'" "No, I haven't yet," said the Profesis'or. "Well, then, my adivioe to you," continued Huldy, "is don't delay; if you do perhaps some other fellow may ask her first, and she may consent, not knowing that yoti think so much of iher." "Well, Pvie thought of that," said the Professor. "I guess you're right. 'VvTiat would you say," continued he, "if I told you that I had asked her?" "Well, I should say," answered Huldy, "that you told me only a minute or two ago that you hadn't.'' "Well, I hadn't tlhen," said the Professor. "I don't really see bow you have had any chanoe to ask her, as you say you have," remarked Huldy, "in the short TOWN POLITICS. 267 time that ha® passed since ycxi said you hadn't. I am not very quick at seeing' a joke, Professor, but p'r'aps I can understand what you mean, if you will tell me when you asked her, and where you asked her to marry you." "Just now! Right here!" cnied the Professor; and before Huldy could interpose he had arisen from his chair and had fallen on his knees before her. Hulldy looked at him with a startled expression, then as the whole matter dawned upon her she burst into a loud laugh. The Professor looked up with a grieved expression on his face. Huldy became grave instantly. . "I wasn't laughing at you. Professor. I'm sure I'm grateful for your esteem and friendship, but it never en- tered my head 'till this rn'oment that you bad any idea of asking me to 'be your wi'fe. What made you think such a thing possible?'' The Professor wais quite porfly, and it was with some little difficulty that he regained his feet, and his face was rather red with the exertion when he hod succeeded. "Well, you isee," said he, "I never thought much about it till that city feller came down here to board; then the whole town knew that you and 'Zeke Pettengill had had a falilin' out, and then by and by that city feller who was boardin' with your folks went away, and I kinder thought that as you didnt have any siteady feller — " Huldy broke in,— "You thoug'ht I was in the market again and that your chances were as good ais those of any one else?'' "Yes, that's jest it," said the Professor. _"You put it jest as I would have said it, if you hadn't said it fust." "Well, really. Professor, I can't understand what gave you and'the whole to^wn. the idea that there was any falling out between Mr. Pettengill and myself. We have grown up together, we have always loved each other very much, and we haive 'been engaged to be married — " 268 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEK. "Since when?" broke in the Professor, exlcitedly. '"Since the day before I last engaged you to give me music lessons," replied Huldy. iWhat the Professor would have said in reply to this will never be known; for at that moment Mts. Mason opened the door, and looking in, said, "The Deacon's come." Strout grasped' his hat, and with a hurried bow • and "Good morning" to Huldy, left the room, closing the door behind him. It must be said for the Professor that he bore defeat with great equanimity, and when he reached the great kitchen and shook hands with Deacon Mason, who had just come in from the bam, the casual observer wo.uld have noticed nothing peculiar in his expression. "Waal, Deacon," said he in a low tone, "did you git the tnoney?" "Oh, I've 'ranged 'bout the money," said the Deacon; "but I had a talk with my lawyer, and he said it wasn't good bizness for me to pay over the five hundred dollars till the store was actually knocked down to you. Here's ■that note of youm that the town clerk endorsed las' nig'ht. Neow, when the auctioneer says the store is yourn I'll give yer the five 'hundred dollars and take the note. I'll be up to the auction by half-'pasit two, so you needn't worry, it'll be jest the same as though yer had the money im yer band." Strout looked a little disturbed; but thinking the matter over quickly, 'he decided that he .had nothing to gain by arguing the question with the Deaoon; so saying, "Be sure and be on hand. Deacon, for it's a sure thing my gettin' that store, if I have the cash to pay do'Wn," he left the house. He went up the hill and turned the corner on the way back to his boarding house. When he got out of sight of the Deacon's house he stopped, clenched his hands, shut his teeth firmly together land stamped his foot on the ground; then he ejaculated in a savage whisper, "Women are wussem catamounts; you know which way a catamount's TOWN POLITICS, 269 goin' to jump. I wonder whether she was honest about that, or whether she's been ioolin' me all this time; she'll be a sorry girl when I git that store and 'lected tax collec- tor, and git app'inted postmaster. I've got three tricks left, ef I have lost two. I wonder who it was put that idea into the Deacon's head not ter let me hav^e thet money till the sale was over. I bet a dollar it wuz thet city feller. Abner says thet he met Appleby on his way back to Mon- trose, and he told him thet he saw thet city feller and the Deacon drive ofif tergether from front o' the bank. Oh! nonsense, what would the son of a millionaire want of » grocery store in a little country town like this?" and he went into his boarding house to dinner. A few moments after two o'clock Strout could restrain his impatience no longer, and leaving his boarding housei he walked over to the grocery store. Quite a number of the Mason's Corner people were gathered in the Square, for to them an auction sale was as good as a show. Quincy had not arrived, and the Professor tried to quiet his nerves by walking up and down the platform and smoking a cigar. The crowd gradually increased, quite a number coming in teams from Montrose and from Eastborough Centre. One of the teams from Montrose brought the auctioneer, Mr. Beers, with whom Strout was acquainted. He gave the auctioneer a cigar, and they walked up and down the plat- form smoking and talking about everything else but the auction sale. It was a matter of professional dignity with Mr. Barnabas Beers, auctioneer, not to be on too friendly terms with bidders before an auction. He had found that it had detracted from his imiportance and had lowered bids, if he allowed would-be purchasers to converse with him concerning the articles to be sold. It was their business, he maintained in a heated argument one evening in the hotel at Montrose, to find out 'by personal inspection the condition and' value of what was to be sold, and it was his 270 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. business, be said, to know as little about it as possible, for the less be knew the less it would interfere with his descrip- tive powers when, ihammer in hand, be took 'his position on the bench. Having established a professional standing, Barnabas Beers was not a man to step down, and though the Professor, after a while, endeavored to extract some information from the auctioneer as to whether there was likely to be many bidders, he finally gave it up in despair, for he found Mir. Beers as uncommunicative as a hitching post, as be afterwards told' Abner Stiles. • About half-past two Deacon Mason drove into the Square, and the Professor went tO' meet him, and shook hands with him. In a short time his other backers, who had agreed to endorse his notes to the amount of two thousand dollars, arrived upon the scene, and he took occasion to welcome them in a manner that could not escape the atten- tion of the crowd. It was now ben minutes of three, and the auctioneer .stepped upon the temporary platformi that had been erected for him, and bringing his hammer down upon the head of a barrel that had heen placed in front of him, he read, in a loud voice, which reached every portion of the Square, the printed notice that for several weeks had hung upon the fences, sheds, and trees of Mason's Corner, Eastborouigh Centre, West Easitborough, and Montrose. It was now three o'clock, for that hour was rung out by the bell on the Rev. Caleb Howe's church. The auctioneer prefaced hiis inquiry for bids by the usual grandiloquence in use by members of that fraternity, closing his oratii.ni with that often-heard remark, "How much am I offered?" The Professor, who was standing by the side of Deacon Mason's team, called out in a loud voice, "Fifteen hundred!'' "Well, I'll take 'that just for a starter," said the auction- eer, "but of course no sane man not fitted to be the inmate of an idiotic asylum thinks that this fine piece of ground, this long-built and long-established grocery store, filled to overflowing with all the necessities and deHcacies of the TOWN POLITICS. 271 season, a store which has been in successful operation for nearly forty years, and of which the good will is worth a goo6 deal more than the sum just bid, will be sold for any such preposterous figure! Gentlem'en, I am listening." Suddenly a voice from the rear of the crowd called out, "T-'O-o-t-o to to-oo-two thousand !" As ff by magic, every bead was turned, for the majority of those in the crowd recognized the voice at once. There was but one man in Mason's Corner who stammered, and that man was Hiram Maxwdl. They turned, and all saw seated in the Pettengill team Hiram Maxwell, and beside him sat Mr. Sawyer from Boston. "Oih, that's more like it," said the auctioneer. "Compe- tition is the life of trade, and is particularly pleasing to an auctioneer. The first gentleman who bid now sees that there is another gentleman who has a better knoiwiedge of the value of this fine property than he has evinced up to the present moment. There is still an opportunity for him to see the error of his ways, and put him'S6lf on record as being an observing and intelligent person." All eyes were turned upon Strout at these words from the auctioneer; his face reddened, and he called out,' "Twenty-five hundred !'' "Still better," cried the auctioneer; "the gentleman, as I supposed, has shown that he is a person of discernment; he did not imagine that I was engaged simply to make a pres- ent of this fine establishment to any one who would offer any sum that suited his convenience for it. He knew as well as I did that there iwould be a sharp contest to secure this fine property. Now, gentlemen, I am offered twenty- five hundred, twenty-five hundred I am offered, twenty-five hundred — " Again a voice was heard from the team on the outer limits of the crowd, "Twenty-five fifty!" The crowd again turned their gaze upon Strout; the 272 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. Professor was not an -extravagfant man, an'd he had saved a little money. He had in his pocket at the time a little over a hundned dollars ; he would not put it in the bank, for, he argued, if he did leveryt'ody in town would know how much money be had; so he called out, "Twenty-six hundred!" "Aih, gentlemen," oontinued the aucitionieer, "let me thank you for the keen appreciation (that you show of a good thing. When' I looked this property over I said to myself, 'the bidders will tumble ovier themselves to secure this fine property'; and I have not been disappointed." Again the faces 'of the crowd were turned towards the team in which sat Quincy and Hiram. Hiram stood up in the team., and malking a horn with his hands, shouted at the top of his voice, for the time overcoming his propensity to stammer, "Twenty-seven hundred!" "Better! still better!" cried the auctioneer; "wie are now approaching the figure that I had placed on this property, and my judgment is usually correct. I am offered twenty- seven hundred, twenty-seven hundred; who will go one hundred better?" At this momient Abner Stiles, who had been watching ' the proceedings with eyes distended and mouth wide open, wient up to Strouit and whispered something in his ear. Strout's 'face brightened, be grasped Abner's hand and shook it warmly, then turning towards the auctioneer cried out, "Twenty-eight hundred!'' By this timie the crowd was getting excited. To them it was a battle royal; nothing of the kind had ever been seen at Mason's Comer before. A great many in the crowd were friends of Strout's, and admired his pluck in standing out so well. They had seen at a glance that Abner Stiles had offered to help Strout. Again the auctioneer called out in his parrot-like tone, "Twenty-eight hundred! I am offered twenty-eight hun- dred!" TOWN POLITICS. 273 And again Hiram put his hands to his mouth, and his voice was heard over the Square as he said, 'Three thou- sand!" "Now, gentlemen," ^continued the auctioneer, "I am proud to be with you. When it is my misfortune to stand up before a company, the members of which have no appre- ciation of the value of the property to be sold, I often wish myself at homie; but, as I said before, on this occasion I am^ proud to be with you, for a sum approximatimg to the true value of the property offered for sale has been bidden. I am offered three thousand — three thousand^ — three thou- sand — agoing at three thousand! Did I hear a bid? No, it must have been the wind whistling through the trees." At this sally a laugh came up from the crowd. "Going at three thousand — going — going — agoing — gone at three thousiand *oi — " "Mr. Hiram 'Miaxwell !" came from the score of voices. "Gone at three thousand to Mr. Hiram Miaxwell !" said the auctioneer, as he brought down his hammer heavily upon the barrel bead with such force that it fell in, and, losing bis bold upon the hammer, that dropped in also. This slight accident caused a great laugh among the crowd. The auctioneer continued, "According to the terms of the sale, five hundred dollars in cash must be paid down to bind the bargain, and the balance must be paid within three days in endorsed notes satisfactory to the preseat owner." Quincy and Hiram alighted from the Pettengill team and advanced towards the auctioneer. Reaching the plat- form, Quincy took from his pocket a large wallet and passiedi a pile of bills to the auctioneer. "Make out a receipt, please," he said to Mr. Beers, "in the name of 'Mir. Hiram Maxwell ; the notes will be miaidle out by 'him and endorsed by me. If you will give a dis- count of six per cent, Mr. Maxwell will pay the entire sum 274 QUmCT ADAMS SAWYER, in cash within ten days; whichever propositicwi is accepted by Mr. Hill will be satisfactory to Mr. Maxwell." The show was over and the oomipany began to disperse. Deacon Mason nodded to Strout and turned his horse's head bomewiard. While Quinoy and Hdram were settling their bus'iniess matters with the auctioneer, everybody had left the Square with the exception of a few loungers about the platform oi ithe grocery store, and Strout and Abner, who stood near the big tree in the centre of the Square, talking earnestly to each other. T'he auctioneer, together with Quincy and Hinam, en- tered the store to talk over business matters with Mr. Hill and his son. Mr. Hill argued that Mr. Sawyer was good for any sum, and he would just as soon have the notes; in fact, he would prefer to have them, rather than make any discount. This matter being adjusted, Mr. Hill trleated the party to some of his best cigars, which he kept under the counter in a private box, and when Quincy and Hiram came out and took their seats in the team, they looked aibout the Square and found that the Professor and his best friend were not in sight. The next morning at about nine o'clock, Abbott Smith arrived at Pettengill's, having with him Mr. Wallace Stack- pole. Quincy was ready for the trip, and they started imme- diately for Bastborough Centre. On the way Quincy had plenty of time for conversation with Mr. Stackpole. The latter gave a true account of the cause that had led to his losing his election as tax collector at the to^vn meeting a year before. He had been taken sick on the train while coming from Bioston, and a kind passenger had given him a drink of brandy. He acknowledged that 'he took too much, and that he really was unable to walk when he reached the station at Eastborough Centre; but he said that he was not a drinking man, and' would not have taken the brandy if he bad not been sick. They reached East- TOWN POLITICS. 275 boroug'b Centne in due season, but made no stop, oontin- uiing on to -West Eastborough to the home of Abbott Smith's father. Here Quincy was introduced to 'Bias Smith, and found that what bad been said about him was not ovierstated. He was a tall, heavily-built man, with a hard, rugged face, but with a pleasarut and powerful countenance, and, in the course of conversation, ran the whole gamut of oratorical expression. He was what New England' country towns have iso often produced^ — a natural-born orator. In addi- tion he was an up-tondate man. He was well read in his- tory, and kept a close eye on current poiitical events, in- cluding ngt O'nly local matters, but State and National affairs as well. Quincy gave him Strout's war record that he had ob- tained fnomi the Adjutant-General's office, and it was read over and compared with that of Wallace Stackpole, which was also in 'Bias Smith's po'sseasion. Mr. Stackpole had! obtained from the town clerk a statement of taxes due and collected for the past twienty years, and this was also de- livered to Mr. Smith. Quincy confided to Mr. Smith sev- eral matters that he wished attended to in town meeting, and the latter agreed to present them, as requested. It was finally settled that 'Bias Smith and Mr. Stackpole should come over to M^ason's Comer the following Satur- day and see if Deacon Mason would agree to act as mod- erator at the annual town meeting on the following Mon- day, the warrants for same having already been posted. When Quincy reached home he found Hiram waiting for him. They went into Jacob's Parlor and took their accustomed seats. "Any news?" asked Quincy. "Not a word," said Hiram, "neither Strout or Abner have been seen on the street sence the s'ale wuz over, but Strout 'has got bold Of it in some way that Htildy's engaged to 'Zeke Pettengill, and it's all over town." 276 QUINCY ADAMS SAWJER. At that moment Ezekiel opened! the door and stepped into the shed. There was a roguish twinkle in his eye and a smile about his lips as he advanced towards Quimcy. "Waal, the cat's out o' the bag," said he to Quincy. "Yes, Hiram was just telling me that Strout got hold of it in some way." "Yaas," saiid Ezekiel, "he 'got hold of it in the most diredti way that he possibly could." "How's that," asked Quincy, "did Miss Mason tell him?" "Yaas," said Ezekiel, "he seemed to want a satisfactory reason why she couldn't marry him, and it sorter seemed to ,her that the best reason that she could give him was that sihe was engaged to marry me." Hiram nearly lost his seat on the chopping block while expressing his delight, and on Qudncy's face there was a look of quiet satisfaction that indicated that he was quite well satisfied with the present condition of affairs. "By the way, Hiram,'' said Quincy, "I believe you told me once that Mrs. Hawkins, whoi keeps the house where the Professor boards, is Mandy Skinner's mother." "Yaas," said Hiram, "Mandy's father died and her mother married Jonas Hawkins. He wasn't much account afore he was marriedi, but I understand that he has turned out to be a rale bandy man 'round the boardin' house. Mrs. Hawkins's a miigl;iity smart woman, and she knew just what kind of a man she wanted." "Well," said Quincy, "I want you to tell Mandy to see her mother as soon as she can, and engage the 'best room that she 'has left in the house for a gentleman that I expect down here from Boston next M'onday night. Here's ten dollars, and have Mandy tell her that this is her week's pay in advance for room and board', counting from to-day." "Waal, I don't believe she'll take it," said Hiram ; "she's a mighty smart woman and mighty clus in money matters;, but she's no skin, and I don't believe she'll take ten dollars for one week's board and room.'' TOWN POLITICS, 277 "Well, if she won't take it/' remarked Quinqr, "Mandy may have the balance of it for her trouble. The man wants ■flie room, and he is able to pay for it." .Then Quincy and Ezekiel went into the house for supper. The next morning Quincy found that Unde Ike had not forgotten his promise, for he was on hand promptly, dressied for a trip to Eastborough Centre. This time they took the carryall and two horses, and Uncle Ike sat on the front sieat with Quincy. They reached Eastborough Centre and found Dr. Tillot- 9on awaiting themi. The return home was quicMy made and Uncle Ike took the doctor to the parlor. Then he went to Alice's room, ^and Quincy heard them descend the stairs. The conversation lasted for a full hour, and Quincy sat in his roiom thinking and hoping for the best. Suddenly he was .startled from his reveries by a rap upon the door, and Uncle Ike said the doctor was ready. Quincy drove him back to Eastborough Centre, and on the way the doctor gave him his diagnosis of the case and his proposed treat- ment. He said it would not be necessary for him to see her again for three weeks, or until the miedicine that he had left for her was gone. He would oome down again at a day's notice from Quincy. On his return Mandy told him that Miss Alice was in the parlor and would like to see him. As he entered the room she recognized his footstep, and starting to her feet turned towards him'. He advanced to meet her and took both her handis in his. "How can I thank you, my good' friend," said she, "for the interest that you 'have taken in me, and how can I repay you for the money that you have spent?" Quincy was at first disposed to deny his connection with the matter, but thinking that Uncle Ike must have told of it, he said, "I don't think; it was quite fair for Uncle Ike, after promising to keep silent!" "It was not Uncle Ike's fault," broke in Alice; "it was 278 QUIKCT ADAMS SAWYER. no'body's £ault. Noibody had told ithe doctor that thiene was any secret about it, and so 'be spoke freely of your visit to the city, .and of what you had said, and of the arrangements that you had made to have the treaitment continued as long as it produced satisfactory riesults. But," continued Alice, "bow can I ever pay you this great sum' of money that it will cost for my treatment?" "Do not worry about that, Alice," said he, using her Qiristian name for the second time, "the money is nothing. I have more than I know what to do with, and it is a pleas- ure for me to use it in this way, if it will be of any benefit to you. You can repay me at any time. You will get money from your poems and your .stories in due time, and I shall not havie to sufifer if I have to wait a long time for it. God knows, Alice," and her na.me fell from his lips as though he had. always called her by that name, "that if half, or even the whole of my fortune would give you back your sight, I would give it to you willingly. Do you believe me?" And he took hier hands again in Ms. "I believe you," she said simply. At that moment Mandy appeared at the door with the familiar cry, "Supper's ready," and Quincy led Alice to her old place at the table and took his seat at hier side. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TOWN MEETING. THE next day was Friday. After breakfast Quincy went to his room and looked over the memorandum pad upon wWch be bad taken pleasure in jiOtting down the various items of his campaign agaimst the singing-master. As be loioked at the pad he checked ofif the items that be had attended to, but suddenly started back with an expres- sion of disgust. "Confound it," said be, "I neglected to telegraph to those congressmen when I was at Eastborough Centre last Tues- d'ay. I hope I'm not too late." He reflected for a moment, then said to himise'lf, "No, it's all right; this is the long session, and my friends will be in Washington." He immediately wrote two letters to his Congressional friends, stating that he had good reasons for having the appointment of Obadiah Strout as postmaster at Mason's Corner, Mass., held up for a week. "At the end of that time," he wrote, "I will either with- draw my objections or present them in detail, accompanied by affidavits in opposition to the appointment." Having finisbed the letters, he went downstairs to the kitchen, and, as usual, found Hrram engaged in conversa- tion with 'MJandy. "You are just the man I want," said be to Hiram; "I would like to have you take these letters to the 'Mason's Corner post office and mail them at once. You can tell Mr. Hill that the papers relating to the store are nearly ready, and if he and his son will come here this afternoon we will 280 QUINCr ADAMS SAWTEK. execute them. I would like to have you and Mr. Pettengill on hand as witnesses." Hiram started off on his mission, and Quincy returned to his room and busied himsieif with the preparation of the documents for the transfer of the grocery store, and the making out of the necessary notes to cover the twemty-five hundred dollars due for the same. He had mot seen Alice at breakfast, nor did she appear at the dinner table. He had followed the rule since she came to the house not to make any open inquiries about her headth, but firom words dropped by Ezekiel anid Uncle Ike, he had kept fairly well informed as to the result of her treatment. At dinner Ezekiel remarked that his sister had commenced to take her new medicine, and that he reckoned it must be purty powierful, for she had said that she didn't wish anything to eat, and didn't want anything sent to her rooim. Quincy politely expressed his regirets at her indisposition and trusted that she would soon be able to join th'em again at meal time. About three o'clock in the afternoon, Samuel Hill and his father arrived, and Hiram, remembering Quincy's in- structions, had found Ezekiel Pettengill, and all came to tlhe room together. It took a comparatively short timie to sign, seal, and deliver the documents and papers. It was arranged that Samuel Hill and his father should take charge of the grocery store and carry on the business until a week from the following Monday; as Quincy told young Hill that he had some business to attend to the early part of the foillowing week that would prevent his giving any attention to the store until the latter part of the week. Quincy treated) his principals and witnesses to cigars, and an interchange of idTeas was made in relation to the result of the auction sale. "How does Strout take it?" inquired Quincy. "I don't know," spoke up Hiram. "He acts as though THE TOWN MEETING. 281 he thought I was pizen. Every time he sees me he crosses over on t'other side of the street, if we happen to be oomin' towards each other." "Well, I imagine," said Quincy, "that your usefulness to him hais departed in some respects, but it's just as well." "Well," said young Hill, "I can tell you what he said the other night in the grocgry store. There was a crowd of his friends there, and he remarked that you," turning to Quincy, "might own Hill's grocery store, but that wasn't the whole earth. He said that he had no doubt thait he would be elected unanimously as tax collector, and he was sure of his appointment as postmaster, and if he got it he should start another grocery st'ore on his own hook and make it lively for you." "Well," said Quincy with a laugh, "competition is the life of trade, and I sha'n't object if he does go into the bus- iness; but if he does, I will guarantee to undersell him on every arfjicle, and I will put on a couple of teams and hire a couple of men, and we'll scour Eastborough and Mason's Corner and Montrose for orders in the morning, and then we'll deliver all the gioods by team in the afternoon in regular Boston style. I never knew just exactly what I was cut out for. 1 know I don't like rstudying law, and it may be, after all, that it's my destiny to become a grocery- man." Quincy took Ezekiel by the arm, led him to the window, and whispered something to him. Eaekiel laughed, then turned red in the face, then finally said in an undertone, "Waal, I dunno, seems kinder early, but I dunno but it jest as we'll might be then as any other time. I hain't got nuthin' ter do this afternoon, so I think I'll take a wadk up there to see how the land lays." He said, "Good afternoon" to the others and left the room. Quincy then took Samuel Hill by the arm in the same manner as he had done to Ezekiel, led him to the window. 282 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEE. and said soimiething to hiim which wrought a similar effect to that produced upon Ezekiel. Samuel thought for a moment and then said, "That ain't a bad idea; I'm satisfie'd if the other party is. I'm going to drive over this aftemoioin 'and tell the old gentleman that matters are all fixed up, and I'll find out if there's any ob- jection to the plan. Guiess I'll go now, as I've got to git back to-night." So he said "Good afternoon," ailid, aocompianied by his father, took hiis departure. "Silt down, Hiram," said Quincy, "I want to have a talk with you. Have you settled up that little mjatter with Mandy?" "No," said Hinam, "not yet; I'v« ben tryin' to muster up courage, but I haven't ben able to up to the present moment." "I should think," remarked Quincy, "that a man who had carried his captain off the field with a shower of bullets raining about him, or who bad pushed forward with bis country's flag in the face of a similar storm of bullets, ought not to be afraid to ask e young girl to marry hii'm." "Waal, do yer know," said Hiram, "I'm more afraid o' Mandy than I would be of the whole army." "Well," said Quincy, "I don't see ony other way for you except to walk up like la anan and meet your fate. Of course if I cou'ld do iit for you I'd be willing toi oblige you." "No, thank yer," said Hiram, "I kinder reckon thet little matter bad better be settled between the two principals in the case 'W'ithqut 'cailin' in a lawyer." Quincy leaned over and whispered' something to him. "By crickey!" said Hiram, "what put thet idea inter yer head?" "Oh," said Quincy, "since I've had to spend so much time plotting aigainst my enemies, I've got into the habit of thinfeing out little surprises for my friends." "Waal, I siwan !" cried Hinam, "that would be the biggest THE TOWN MEETING. 283 thinig ever happened in Mason's Corner. Well, I rather think I shall be able to tend to that matter now, at once. One, two, three," said Hiram, "just think of it; well, that's the biggest iark that I've ever ben connected with; beajts buying the grtDoery store all holler." "Well," continued Quincy, "you three genitleraen under- stand it now, and if matters can be arranged I will do my part, and I promise you all a grand send-off; but not a word of it must be breathed to outside parties, remember. It won't amount to anything unless its' a big surprise." "AH right," said Hiram, "I kinder reckon Sawyer's sur- prise party will be a bigger one than Strout's was." "Oh," continued Hiram, "I 'most forgot. Mandy was up ter see her mother abeout thet room for thet man that's comin' down from Boston M'onday night, and Mis' Haw- kins says the price of the room is three dollars per week and the board fifty cents a day. Mandy paid for the room for a week, and Mis' Hawkins sayis after she takes out what the board co^mes to she'll give the 'balance back ter Mandy." "That's all riight," said Quincy, "I've heard from the man in Boston, and he'll surely occupy the room' next Monday night, Miandy can tell her mother to have it all Next morning about ten o'clock, Abbott Smith drove over from Eastiborough Centre, accompanied by his father and Wallace Stackpole. Quincy took his place beside Mr. Stackpole on the rear seat of the carryall, and Abbott drove off as though he intended to return to Eastborough Centre, but when be reached' the crossroad he went through, then turning back towards Mason's Corner, drove on until he reached DeacO'U Mason's barn, follo'wing the same plan that Ezekic'l had on the night of the surprise party. They found the Deacon at home, and all adjourned to the parior, whene 'Bias Smith stated his business, which was to ask the Deacon to act as 'Mbderat'or at the town meeting on the following Monday. The Deacon objected 284 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. at first, but finally consented, after Mr. Smith had explained several raattiers to him. "Yer know," said the Deacon, "my fellow citizens have tried on several occasion's to have me run for selectman, but I reckoned thet I wuz too old to be out so late nights and have to drivie home from. Eaetboroug'hi at ten or leven o'clock at night. Besides I've worked hard in my day, and there's no place I like so well as my own h'ome. I'm alwus soffy to go away in the mornin' and 'alwuis glad ter git home at night, and although I consider that every citi- zien ought ter do everything he can for the public good, I reckon thet there's a good many more anxious than I am to serve the town, and I'm mot so consated but thet I think they know how ter do it beitter'n I could. But as that Moderator -work comes in the daytime, as I stand ready to do all I can for my young friend) here," turning towards Qnincy, "I'll be lon hand Monday imornin' and do the best I can to serve public and private interests alt the same time." Wallace Stackpole, while the 'Others were talking, had taken a Couple of newspapers fromi bis pocket, and as Dea- con Mason finished, he looted up and said, "There's an item here in the 'Eastborough Express,' Deacon, that I imagine you'll be interested in. I'll read it to you : 'We are informed on the best authority that Miss Huldy Miasoo, only daughter of Deadon Abraham Mason of Masion's Cor- ner, is engaged to Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill. The day of the imarriage has mot been fixed, but our readers will be in- formed in due sieason.'" "I'm afraid. Deacon," said Quincy, "that's all my fault. I met young Chisholm last Tuesday when I was over to the Centre, and he told' me soimething that actually obliged me to confide in him the fact that I knew that your daughter was not likely to become Mrs. Obadiah Strout, but he promised me on his word of honor that he would not put it THE TOWN MEETING. 285 in the paper unless he got the same information from som« other source." The Deacon haw-hawed in good old-fashioned country style. "Waal," said he, "young Chishokn tackled m'e, and' said he heard a rumor abeout Huldy lanid Strout, and, as you say, Mt. Sawyer, he kinder 'bliged me to set 'him right. But he made me a promise, as be did you, thet be wouldn't say anythin' abeout it unless some other feller told him the same thing." "That young man is sure to get ahead in the world ; he buncoed us both. Deacon,'' said Quincy. "Waal, I dunno as I know just what you mean by bun- coed," said the Deacon, "but I kinder think he got the best of both on us on thet point.'' As they took their places again in the carryall, Quincy said to Mr. Smith, "If you can drive to Mr. Pettengill's house and wait a few iminutes, I think I'll gO' over to East- borough Centre with you. I'm going to Boston this after- noon, and shall not be back again until Monday night." This they consented to do, and after Quincy bad obtained certain papers and had packed his travelling bag, be left word with Miandy that he would not be back to the house until Tuesday of the following week, and it might be Wednesday, as he was going to Boston to see his parents. When they reached Eastborough Centre, Quincy went at once to the post office ; there he found a short letter from Leopold Elmst. It read as follows: "Dear Q:— "Comie up and see me as sioon as you can; I shall be at home eld day Sunday. Am ready to report on the stories, but have more to say than I have time to write. Invariably thine, Leopold Ernst." 286 QtriNCT ADAMS SAWYER. Quincy then crossed the Square anid entered the office of the "Eastbonoug'h Express." Sylvester flushed a little as Quincy came in, but the latter reassured him by extending his hand and shaking it heartily. "Is the editor in?" asked Quincy. "No," replied Sylvester, "he mever shows up on Satur- days." "Who is going to report the town meeting?" continued Quincy. "I am," amswered Sylvester. "The editor will be on hand, but he told me yesterday that he should depend on me to write the meeting up, because he 'had a little political worlc to attend to that would take all his time. He told me he was going over to see 'Bias Somiith on Sunday, so I imagine that Mr. Smith and he are interested on the same side." "Well, Mr. Chisholm," said Quincy, "you managed that little matter about Miss Mason's engagement so neatly that I have something for you to do for me. I'm going to Bos- ton this afternoon, and shall not be back until half-past seven Monday night. I'm going over to see Mf. Parsons when I leave here, and shall arrange with him to supply all our boys with all they want to eat and drink next Monday." "Well, the boys, as you call them, will be pretty apt to be hungry and thirsty next Monday," laughed Sylvester. "That's all right," said Quincy, "IHl stand the bills." "How's Parsons going tO' know which are our boys?" continued Chisholm. "They ought to have somie kind of badge or some kind of a password, or your enemies, as well as your friends, will be eating up your provisions." "Tha;t's what I want you to attend to," added Quincy. "I'll arrange with Parsons that if anybody gives him the letters B D on the quiet, he is to consider that they are on our side, and mustn't take any money from them, but chalk it up on my score. Now, I depend upon you, JMr. Chis- THE TOWN MEETING. 287 holm, to give the password to the faithful, and to pay you for your time and trouble just taike this." And he passed a twenty-dollar bill to Sylvester. The latter drew back. "No, Mr. Sawyer," said he, "I canniot take any money for that service. This work is to be done, for I understand the whole business, to defeat the man who, I think, has treated my sister in a very mean manner, and I'm willing to work all day and all nigh't without any pay to knock that fellow out. Let's put it that way, — I'm working against him, and not for you ; and, looking at it that way, of course, there's no reason why you should pay me anything." "All rigbt," rejoined Quincy, "I should have no feeling if you took the money, but I can appreciate your senti- ments, and will have no feeling betause you do not take it. One of these days I may be able to do as great a ser- vice for you, as you are willing to do for me between now and next Monday." They shook hand's and parted, and Quincy made his way to the Eagle Hotel, of which Mr. Seth Parsons was the proprietor. Mr. Parsons greeted him heartily and invited him into his private room. Here Quincy told the arrange- ment that be had malde with young Chisholm, and gave him the password. "Don't stint them," said Quincy, "let them have a good time ; but don't let anybody know who pays for it. I shall be down 'on the half-past seven express, Monday night, and I would like to have a nice little dinner for eight or nine people ready in your private dining-room at ■eight o'clock. Mr. Tobias Smith knows who my guests are to be, and if I am delayed from any cause, be will tell you who are entitled to go in and eat the dinner.'' The next train to Bost'on was dute in ten minutes, and shaking hands with the hotel proprietor, he made his way quickly to itii4 station. As he reached the platform he no- ticed that Abner Stiles was just driving away; the thoug'ht 288 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. flashed through his mind that someibady from Mason's Cor- ner was going to the city ; but that was no uncommon event, and the thought passed from him. Hie entened the car, and, to his surprise, found that it was filled; >every seat in sight was taken. He walked for- waM and espied a seat near the farther end of the car. He noticed that a lady sai near the wiwdow; when he reached it he raised his hait, and leaning forward, said politely, "Is this seat taken?" "No, sir," replied a pleasant, but somewhat sad voice, and he sank into the seat without further thought as to its other occupant. When they reached the first station beyond Eastborough Centre 'he glanced out of the window, and as^ he did so, noticed that his cO'mpanion was Miss Lindy Putnam: "Why, Miiss Putnam," cried he, turning towards her, "how could I be so ungallant as not to recognize you?" "Well," replied Lindy, "perhaps it's just as well that you didn't; my thoughts were not very pleasant, and I should not have been ai very entertaining coimpanion." "More trouble at home?" he inquired lin a low voice. "Yes," answered Lindy, in a choked voice, "since Mr. Putoam died it (has been worse than ever. While he lived she had him to talk to; but now she insists on talking to me, and sends for me several times a day, ostensibly to dO' some- thing for her, ;but really simply to get me in the room so she can talk over the old, old story, and say spiteful and hateful things to me. May -Heaven pandon me for saying so, Mr. Sawj^ar, but I am thankful that it's nearly at an end." "Why, what do you mean," asked Quincy,"is she worse?'' "Yes," said Lindy, "she is failing very rapidly physically, 'but her voice and mental powers lare as strong as evier; in fact, I think she is more acute in her mind and sharper in her words than she has ever been before. Dr. Budd ordered some medicine that I could not giet at tte Centre, anid so THE TOWN MEETING. 289 there was no way for mie exdept to go to the dity for it. Let me tell you now, Mr. Sawyer, sometlhing that I should have been obliged to write to you, if I had not seen you. I shall sitay with Mrs. Putnam until she dies, for I prom- ised Jones that I would, and I could never break any prom- ise that I made to him; but the very moment that she's dead I shall leave the house and the town forever!" "Shall you not stay to the funeral?'' said Quincy; "what will the townspeople say?" "I don't icare what they say," rejoined Lindy, in a sharp tone; "she is not my mother, and I will not sta^ to the funeral and hypocritically mourn over her, when in my sect>et heart I shall be glad she is dead." "Those are harsh words," said Quincy. "Not one-tenth nor one-hundredth as harsh and unfeeling a,s those sihe has used to me," said Lindy. "No, my mind is made up; my trunks are aU packed, and she will not be able to lock me in my room this time. I shall leave town 'by the first train after her dfaath, and Eastborough will never see me nor hear from me again." "But how aibout your friends," asked Quincy, "suppos- ing that I shouild find out something that Tvould be of in' terest to you ; supposing that I should get some information that might lead to the disoopery of your real parents, how could I find you?" "Well," replied lindy, "if you will give me your promise that you will not disdose to any one wihat I am^ going to say, I will tell you hoiw to find me." "You have my word," replied Quincy. "'Wiell," answered Lindy, "I'm goaing to New York! I would tell you where, but I don't know. But if you wish to find me at any time advertise in the Personal GDluimn of the 'New York Herald'; address it to Linda, and sign it Eastb'orough," said she, afiter a moraient's thought. "I shall drop the name of Putnam when I arrive in New YorK, but what name I shall take I have not yet diedded upon; it will 290 QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYER. depend upon circuimstances. But I shall have the 'New Yonk Herald' every day, and if you advertise for me I shall be sure to see it." She then relapsed into silence, and Quin'cy forbore to speak any more, as he saw she was- busy with her own thougihts. They soon reached the city and parted at the door of the 'Station. She gave him her hand, and as he held it in his for a moment, he said, "Good-by, Miss Linda." She thanked him for not «aying "Miss Putnam" with a glance of her eyes. "I may not see you again, but you may depend upon me. If I hear of anything that will help you in your search for your parents, my time shall be given to the matter, and I will .communicate with you at the earliest moment. Good-by." He raised his hat and they parted. Town Meeting Day proved to be a bright and pleasant one. At nine o'clock the Town Hall was filled with the citizens of Eastborough. They had come from the Centre, they had come from West Eastborough and from Mason's Conner. There were very nearly four hundred gathered upon tihe floor, the majority of them being horny-ihanded sons of toil, or, more pr'operly speaking, indep'endent New England farmers. When Jeremiah Spinney, the oldest man in town, who had reached the age of ninety-two, and who declared that he hadn't "missed a town meetin' for seventy year," called the meeting to order, a hush fell upon the assemblage. In a cracked, but still distinct voice, he called for a nomination for_Moderator of the meeting. Abraham Mason's name, of Mason's Comer, was the only one presented. The choice was by acclamation; for it was acknowledged on all sides that Deacon Mason was as square a man as there was in town. Tfie newly-elected Moderator tboik the chair and called upon the clerk to read the warrant for the meeting. This was soon done, and the transaction of itihe town's business THE TOWN MEETING. 291 begiain in earnest. It will be, of course, impossible and un- necessary to give a connplete and connected account of all that took place in town m'eeting on that day. For such an account the Header is referred to the columns of the "East- borough Express," for it was afterwards acknowledged on all sides that the aooount of the meeting written by Mr. ■ Sylvester Ghisholm was the m-ost graphic and comprehen- sive that tiad ever appeared in that paper. We have to do only with those items in the warrant that related directly or indirectly to those residents of the town with whom we are intenested. When the question of appropriating a certain sum for the 'Suppoirt of the town Almshouse was reached, Obadiah Strout sprang to his feet and called out, "Mister Modera- tor," in a loud voice. He was recognized, and addressed ttue chair as follows: "Mister Moderator, before a vote is taken on the ques- tions of approprjaitin' for the support of the town poor, I wish to call the attention of my fellow-citizens to a matter that has come to my knowledge duriin' the past year. A short time ago a man who had been a town charge for more than three years, and whose funeral expenses were paid by the town, was diisoovered by me to be the only brother of a man livin' in BoiSton, who is said' to be worth a million dollars. A very strange circumstanoe was that the son of this wealthy man, and a nephew of this town pauper, has been livin' in this town for several months, and spendin' bis money in every way that he could think of to attract attention, but it never occurred to him that he could have used his money to better advantage if he had taken some of it and paid it to the town for takin' care of his uncle. These facts are well known to many of us here, and I move that a ballot—" Tobias Smith had been fi'dgeting uneasily in his seat while Strout was speaking, and when he mentioned the wD'rd "ballot," he could restrain himsielf no longer, but 292 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEE. jumped to Ihis feet anid called out in his stentorian voice, "Mister Mod'enator, I rise to a question of privilege." "I have the floor," shouted Strout, "and I wish to finish my retnarks. This is only an attempt of the opposition to shut me Kyft. I demand to be heard!" "Mister Mbderator," screamed Abner Stiles, "I move that Mr. Strout be alowed to continue without further interruption.'' ■The Mod'eraitor brouglit his gavel down on the table and called out, "Order, order." Then turning to Tobias, he said, "Mr. Smith, state your question of privilege." Strout sank into his seat, his face livid with passion; turning to Stiles, he said, "This is all cooked up between 'em. You know you told me you saw Smith and Stack- pole and that city chap drivin' away from the Deacon's house last Saturday mornin'." Stiles nodded his head and said, "I guess you're right. Mr. Smith oontinued, "My question of privilege. Mister Moderator, is this : I desire to present it now, because when I've stated it, my fellow citizen," turning to Strout, "will find that it's unnecessary to make any motion in relation to the matter to which he has referred. I hold in my hand a letter from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, whose father iis • the Hon. N'a^thaniel Sawyer of Bost'On, and whose uncle was Mr. James Sawyer, who died in the Eastborough Poor- house several weeks ago. By conference with Mt. Waters, who is in charge of the Poorhouse, and with the Town Treasurer, he ascertained that the total expense to which the town of Eastborough has been put for the care of his uncle was four hundred amd sixty-eight dollars and seventy-two cents. I hold his check for that sum, drawn to the order of the Town Ttieasurer, amd certified tO' be good by the cashier of the Eastborough National Bank. He has requested me to ofifer this, check to the town, and that a receipt for the sam,e be given by the Town Treasurer." Strout jumped to his feet. THE TOWN MEETIHG. 293 "Mister Moderator, I am glad to iearn," cried he, "that this son of a millionaire has had his (heart touched and his conscience pricked by the kindness shown by the town of Bastboroiugh to his uncle, and I move the check be accepted and a receipt given by the Town Treasurer, as requested." "Second the motion I" called out Abner Stiles. "Before puttin' the question," 'said the Moderator slowly, "I wiant to say a few words on this matter, and as it may be thouglht not just proper for me to speak from the chair, I -will call upon the Rev. Caleb Hiowe to take the same durin' my remarks." The well-known clergyman at Mason's Corner came for- ward, ascended the platform, took the chair, and recog- nized Deacon Mias^on's claim' to be heard. "I have heerd the motion to accept this check, an' I de^ sire ter say thet I am iteetotally opposed tto the town's takin' this money. If the Hon'rable Nathaniel Sawyer, who's the dead man's brother, or Mr. Quihcy Adams Sawyer, who's his nephew, had known that he wuz a pauper, they would 'er relieved the town of any further charge. We hev no legal claim agin either of these two gentlemen. Our claim is agin ther town of Amiesbury, in which Mr. Jam^es Sawyer was a citizen and a taxpayer. If Mr. Quincy Adams Saw- yer wishes to pay ther town of Amesbury after ther town of Amesbury has paid us, thet's his affair and none o' our business, but we've no legal right toi aocept a dollar from him, when our legal claim is agin the town in which he bed a settlement, and I hope this motion will not prevail." As Deacon Mason regained the platform loud cries of "Vote ! Vote ! Vote !" came from all parts of the hall. Tellers were appointed, and in a few .mioments the result of tfhe vote was amnounoed'. In fevior ol Mr. Strout's mo- tion to accept the check, eighty-five. Opposed, two hundred and eighty. And it was not a vote. "We wiill now proceed," said the Moderajtor, as he re- 294 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEE. sumed the chair, "to 'consider the question of appropriating money for the support of the Poor-farm." The next 'matter on the warrant of general interest was the appropriation of a small sum of money to purchase some reference btwks for the town library, which consisted of but a few hundred volumes stowed away in a badly- lighted anid poorly-ventilated room (on ithe upper floor of the Town H'all. This question brought to his feet Zach'ariah Butiterfield, who was looked upon as the waitchdag of the town treasury. He had not supported Strout on the question of accepting the dhecic, because he knew the position taken by the Mod- erator was legally correct, and he was very careful in oppos- ing appropriations to attack only those where, as it seemed to him, he 'had a good show of carrying his point. He had been successful so often, that with him success was a duty, for he had a reputation to maintain. "Mister Moderator," he said, "I'm agin appropriatin' any more money for this 'ere town lib'ry. We hev got plenty of schoolbooks in our schools; we hev got plenty of books and newspapers in 'Our houses, and it's my 'Opinion thet those people who spend tiheir time crawlin' up three flights er stairs and readin' those 'books had better be tillin' ther soil, poundin' on ther anvil, or catchin fish. Neow, I wuz talkin' with iMiss Burpee, the liibrari'n, and she sez they want a new W'ooster's Dictshuneery, 'cause ther old onie iz all worn eout. Neow, I looked through the old one, and I couldn't see but what it's jiest as goo'd as 'ever; there may be a few pages missin', but what's thet amount ter when there's m'ore'n a couple of thousan' on 'em left?" Mr. Tobias Smith was again fidgeting in his seat. He evidently bad something to say and was anxious to say it. Mr. Biortterfiieilid continued : "Neow, to settle this question ohct fer all, I m:ake ther m'otion that this 'ere lib'ry be closed up and the librari'n discharged; she gits a dollar a The town meeting. 295 week, and ther town ken use that fifty-two dollars a year, in my opinion, to better advantege." "Mister Mbderator," came again from Mr. Tobias Smith, "I rise to a question of privilege — " Mr. Butterfield kept on talking: "Mister Moderator, this IS not a question of privilege ; this is a question of expendi- ture of money for a needless purpose. Yes, Mister Mod- erator, for a needless purpose." Mr. Butterfield 'bad evidently lost the thread of his dis- course, and Mr. Smith, taking advantage of his temporary indecision, said, "I agree with the gentleman who has just spoken; I am in favor of closing up this musty, dusty old room, and saving the furtlher expenditure of money upon it." Mr. Butterfield, hearing these words, and not having suf- ficiently collected his thoughts to say anything himself, nodded appirovinigly and sank into bis seat. 'Mr. Smith loontinued, "I have a proposition to submit in relation to the town library. I hold in my hand a letter from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, whose name has been pricviously imentioned — " Mr. Strout jumped to^ bis feet. "Mister Moderator, I rise to a question of privilege.'' "I second the motion!" eried Abner Stiles. "State your question of privilege, Mr. Strout," said the Moderator. "I wish to inquire," answered Strout, "if the time of this town meetin' is to be devoted to the legitimate business of the town, or is it to be fooled away in hearin' letters read from a person who is not a citizen of the town, and who is not entitled to be beard in this town meetin'?" "Mister Moderator," said Mr. Smith, "I am a citizen of this town, and I'm entitled to be heard in this meeting, and the matter that I'm about to bring to the attention of this mieeting is a most important one and aflfects the interests of the town materially. I consider that I have a right to read 296 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTER. this letter or any other letter that relates -to the question before the meeting, which is, 'Shall money be appropriated to buy books for what is called the town library?' I say NO ; and my reason for this is contained in this letter, which I propose to read." "Go on, Mir. Smith," said the Moderator. :"Wiell;" idonitinued Mt. iSmith, "Mir. Quincty ^Ad'ams Sawyer, in this letter, offers to the town of Eastborough the sum of five thousand dollars, to be used either for pur- chasing 'books and paying the expenses of a library to be located in the Town Hall ; or a portion of the mioney may be used to build a suitable building, and the balance for the equipment and support of the libnary." Mr. Bubterfield was on his feet again. "Mister Moderaitor, I'm agin aoceptin' this donation. If we take it, we shall only jump out er the fryinnpan inter the fire; instead of buyin' a few books and payin' the li- brari'n a dollar a week, we shall hev to hev a jan'ter for the new buildin', and pay fer insurance, and we shell hev ter hev a librari'n ev'ry day in ther week, and by'm by the ungodly will want ter ihev it open on a Sunday, so thet they kin hev a place to loaf in; and I'm agin the whole bizness teetotally. I've sed my say ; neow, you kin go ahead, and do jest as you please." This was IM'r. Butterfield's usual wind-up to his argu- mients; 'but 'On this occasion it seemed to fail of its effect. The Mioderator said, "Was Mr. Biutterfield's miotion sec- onded?" There was no response, "Then the matter be- fore the mieeting is the question 'of appropriiaiting money for the support of the town library." "Mister Moderator," said Mr. Smith, "I move that the donation from Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer be accepted, and that the library be named 'The Slawy.er Free Public Library ' of the Town of Eastborough.' " "Second the motion!" came from a hundred voices. Strout was on his feet again. THE TOWN MEETING. 2G7 "Mister Moderator/' said he, "I move to amend the mo- tion by ihaviin' it read that we decHne, that the town declines the donation without thanks." A loud laugili arose from the assemblage. Abner Stiles had evidently misinterpreted Mr. Strout's motion, for he called out, "Mister Moderator," and when he got the floor, "I move to amiend so that the motion would read, this library shall be called the Strout Free Library of the Town of Eastboroug and it's understood that none of us is to go and loaf 'round at home, 'less we pay our board." "That's all right," said Mrs. Hawkins. "You can tell Samanthy for me that she can come here and stay a couple o' weeks with you. Your bed's big enough for two, and I won't charge her no board if she's willin' to wait on table 308 QUmCT ADAMS SAWYEK. at dinner time. You'll get the benefit of it, ye know, Betsy, for you kin get the dinner dishes done so much ear- lier." "That's very ki'nd of you, Mrs. Hawkins," said Betsy, and the conversation lapsed for a moment till she in- quired, "Will your daughter Mandy stay with Mf. Petten- gill arter he marries Huldy Mason?" "I don't know," replied Mrs. Hawkins. "Mandy says that Hiram Maxwell is the biggest fool of a man sihe ever saw." "Then she must think a good deal of him," laughed Betsy. "Wall, I fancy she does," replied Mrs. Hawkins; "and I've no objections to him, seein' as that Mt. Sawyer is goin' to put him inter the grocery store and back him up. But Mandy says that he won't come to the pi'nt. He hints and hints and wobbles all 'round the question, but he don't ask her to marry halm right out and out. Mandy says she won't gin in until he does, "for if she does, she says he'll be chuckiin' it at her one of these days that he didn't ask her to marry him and be sayin' as how she threw herself at him, but there's too much of the old Job Skinner spirit in Mandy for her to do anythin' like that." At this mioment Mrs. Hawkins looked up and saw Hiram Maxwell standing in the half-open doorway that led into the wood-shed. "List'ners never hear any good of themselves," remarked Mrs. Hawkins, as Hiram advanced into the room. "I didn't hear nothin'," said Hiram. "I've got t®o many things in my head to tell yer to mind any women's talk," he continued. "What is it?" cried 'Mrs,. Hawkins and Betsy simul- taneously. "Well, fust," said Hiram, "early this mornin' your sister Saimanthy," here he looked at Betsy, "came tearin' down B MRS. HAWKINS' BOARDING HOUSE. 309 to Deacon Mason's house and said as how Mis' Hepsey Putnam was powerful bad, and she wanted me to run down to 'Zeke Pettengill's and have him bring his sister right up to the house, 'cause Mis' Putnam wanted to see her afore S'he died, and the Deacon's wife said as how I could go up with him and her, and so we druv up, and a little while ago your sister Samanthy," here he looked at Betsy again, "asked me if I'd drive over and ask Mis' Hawkins if you," here he looked at Betsy for the third time, "could come up and stay with her this arternoon, for she thinks Mis' Putnam is goin' to die, and 'she don't want to be left alone up in that big house." Betsy looked at Mrs. Hawkins inquiringly. Mrs. Hawkins saw the glance and said, "I can't spare yer till arter dinner, Betsy; say 'bout one o'clock. You kin go and stay till the fust thing to-morrer mornin', I guess I kin manage supper alone." "Samanthy will be much obleeged. Mis' Hawkins," said Hiram. "I'll drive right back and tell her, and I'll drive down agin about one o'clock arter Betsy." "List'ners get a good p'int now and then," remarked Hiram to himself. "Now I see what made Mandy so durned offish. Wall, she won't have any excuse in the future, il guess I kin ask her a straight question when I git good and ready, Mother Hawkins." And he struck the horse such a violent 'blow with the whip that it required all his attention for the next few minutes to bring- him down to a trot. When he had done so he had reached his destination and his resentful feelings had subsided. After Hiram had gone, 'Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy busied themselves getting dinner. Happening to glance out of the window, the former exclaimed, "Why, there's Jonas, and what on airth has he got an his hands?" Betsy ran to the window and looked out. "I guess it's a head of lettuce," said she. 310 QUmCT ADAMS SAWYER. At that moment the door opened and Jonas Hawkins entered, bearing a huge head of lettuce in his hand. "Wall, Marthy," said Mr. Hawkins, "how did the man from Bosting like his breakfast? I kalkilated them fresh- laid eggs would suit him to a T." "He ain't got up yet," replied Mrs. Hawkins. "Must have been putty tired," continued Mr. Hawkins. "I kinder envy him. Do yer know, Marthy, if I wuz rich I wouldn't git up any day till it wuz time to go to bed agin." And he laughed loudly at his own remark., "What do yer expect me to do with that head of let- tuce?" asked IMirs. Hawkins with some asperity in her tone. "Wall," said Jonas, "I was over to Hill's grocery and he'd ordered some from Bosting for Mis' Putnam, but she's too sick to eat 'em, so Sam gave me this one, 'cause we're putty good customers, you know, and I kalkilated that if you made up one of them nice chicken salads o' yourn it might please the new boarder and the old ones too;" and chuckling to himself he laid the lettuce on the kitchen table and walked out into the wood-shed. In a few mo- ments he was vigorously at work chopping wood, whistling to himself as he worked. "Mr. Hawkins is an awful good-natured man, isn't he?" asked Betsy. "Yes," replied Mrs. Hawkins, "he's too all-fired good- natured for his own good. If I'd known him twenty-five years ago he'd have money in the bank now. His fust wife wuz slacker'n dish water. But I guess we've talked enough for one momin', Betsy. You jest git that chicken I boiled and bone it and chop it up, and I'll make the dressin'." When twelve o'clock sounded from the bell in the church tower, dinner was on the table at Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house. By five minutes past twelve there were MRS. HAWKINS' BOARDING HOUSE. 311 fourteen seated at the table, with one vacant chair. Pro- fessor Strout sat at the head of the table. At his left was Abner Stiles, w'hile Robert Wood sat next to Stiles. The vacant seat was at the Professor's right hand, and all eyes were turned toward it, for all had heard of the Boston man who had arrived the night before, but who, much to their disappointment, had not appeared at breakfast. At ten minutes past twelve the door leading into the dining-room from the front entry was opened quietly, and the young man who entered, seeing the vacant chair near the head of the table, took possession of it. For a moment nobody looked up, each apparently wait- ing for some one else to take the initiative. Quincy, for it was he, broke the silence, and immediately every face at the table was turned towards him. "How do you do. Professor?" said he. "Good afternoon, Mr. Stiles and Mr. Wood. Ah, glad to see you, Mr. Hill," he added, as he espied Samuel Hill at the farther end of the table. The Professor's face grew cri!mson, then bright red, an'l finally assumed a bluish tinge. Abner sat transfixed. The others at the table had a charming diversity of expressions on their faces, ranging from "grave to gay, from lively to severe." No one at the table enjoyed the situation any more than Samuel Hill, who was very fond of a joke and who knew of Quincy's intention to meet his enemy at close quarters. For several minutes no one spoke. Betsy flew from one to the other waiting upon table, but a .solemn hush seemed to have fallen upon the dinner party. Again Quincy broke the silence. "I trust, gentlemen," said he, "that you will not let my presence interfere with your usual conversation. I have no doubt Mr. Stiles can tell us a good srory, and I am 312 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. equally sure that Professor Strout has some entertaining bit of village gossip that he would like to circulate." Here Samuel Hill purposely dropped "his fork upon the floor and was obliged to get under the table to recover it, Betsy assisting him in the search. When they emerged from under the table their faces were red with their exer- tions. As we have seen on other occasions, the Professor was very quick in rescuing himself from any dilemma into which he mi'ght be thrown. He saw an opportunity lo divert attention from himself and speedily improved it. "I think I'll have to walk over and see Miss Tilly James this afternoon," said the Professor. At this shot at Samuel Hill and Betsy everybody lauglhed, including Quincy, and thus the ice was broken. "I've heard some pretty big lies told in my life," said Robert Wood, "but I think Abel Coffin, yer know him, Professor, old Jonathan Coffin's son, the one that goes car- penterin', he lives over in Montrose, yer know, can beat anybody we've got in this town, not exceptin' you. Stiles ;" and he gave the latter a nudge with his elbow that nearly knocked him out of his chair. "Tell us the story, Robert," said the Professor, who had recovered his self-complacency; "we're dyin' to hear it." "Well," continued Robert Wood, "Abel had been shin- glin' a house, and I told him there wuz a place where he'd left off a shingle. Abel laughed and, sez he, 'If I hadn't better eyesight than you've got I'd carry a telescope 'round with me.' 'Well,' sez I, thinkin' I'd fool him, 'let's see which one of us has got the best eyesight.'- I pointed up to the ridgepole of the house, which was 'bout a hundred feet ofif from where we stood, and sez I to Abel, 'Can you see that fly walkin' along on the ridgepole near the chim- ney? J ken.' Abel put his hand up back of his ear, ar^ MRS. HAWKINS' BOARDING HOUSE. 313 sez he, 'No, I can't see him, but I can hear him walkin' 'round.' " As Robert concluded, a loud shout of laughter went up from the table. Quincy had no desire to be considered "stuck up," so he joined in the laugh, although he had heard the story in a different form before. So had the Professor, and he never allowed an old story to be told in his presence without working in two lines of doggerel which he had composed, and of which he was very proud. So, turning to Robert Wood he said patron- izingly, "That was very well told, Robert. The story is an old one, but you worked it up very nicely; but," con- tinued the Professor, "as I have often remarked on similar occasions : It makes no difference whether a story's new or old, Everything depends on the way it's told." Turning quickly to Quincy he said, "No doubt Mr. Saw- yer can favor us with a story that we've never heard be- fore." Quinoy was a little taken aback, for the appeal was un- expected, but he quickly recovered his self-possession and said in a low but pleasant voice, "I am afraid that my story will have to depend on the way it is told rather than upon its novelty." He wondered if his hearers were acquainted with the travels of Baron Munchausen, but decided to try the experiment. "About a year ago," resumed Quincy, "I went down to Miaine on some law business. I transacted it, but had to travel some ten miles to the county town to record my papers. I bad a four-wheeled buggy, and a strong-, heavily-built horse. It began to snow very fast after I started, but I knew the road and drove steadily on. As I approached the county town I noticed that the snow was deeper than the highest building in the town, in fact, 314 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTER, none of the town was visible, excepting about three feet of the spire of the tallest church in the place." Quincy stopped and glanced about the table. Every eye was fastened upon him, and all, including the Professor and Stiles particularly, were listening intently. Quincy continued his story: "I was well supplied with buffalo robes, so after tying my horse firmly to the weather vane on the spire, I made up a bed on the snow with my buffalo robes, and slept soundly and comfortably all night. When I woke in the morning I was still enveloped in the robes, but found to my surprise that I was lying upon the ground. I looked around, but there was no sign of snow anywhere. I arose and looked about for my horse and buggy, but they were not in sight. Then I remembered that I had tied my horse to the weather vane. Casting my eyes upward I saw my horse and buggy hanging by the strap, the horse having secured a footing on the side of the spire. Happily I had a revolver with me, and with one shot I severed the broad leathern strap. Naturally the horse and buggy fell to the ground. I put my buffalo robes back into the buggy, rode to the court house, had my papers recorded, and then drove back ten miles to town, none the worse for my ad- venture, but the stableman charged me fifty cents for the strap that I was obliged to leave on the church spire." A number of low whistles, intermixed with several "whews !" were heard, as Quincy finished his story. "Wall, by thunder!" ejaculated Stiles, "how do yer ac- count for — " "I think it must have been a sudden thaw," remarked Quincy, with a grave face. "One thing puzzles me," said the Professor. "What is that?" asked Quincy politely, "perhaps I can explain." "Before you left the church," aske3 the Professor, "why didn't you reach up and ontie that strap?" MRS. HAWKINS' BOAEDIN6 HOUSE. 315 Another loud shout of laughter broke from the company, and Quincy, realizing that the Professor ihad beaten him fairly by putting a point on his own story, joined heartily in the laugh at his own expense. "That reminds me," said Abner Stiles, "of an adventure that I had several years ago, down in Mkine, when I wuz younger and spryer'n I am now." "How old be you?" said the Professor. "Wall," replied Abner, "the family Bible makes me out to be fifty-eight, but jedgin' from the fun I've had I'm as old as Methooserlar." This remark gave Stiles the preliminary laugh, which he always counted upon when he told a story. "Did yer ever meet a b'ar?" asked he, directing his re- marlc to Quincy. "Yes," said Quincy, "I've stood up before one many a time." "Well, really," exclaimed Abner, "how'd yer come oflf?" "Usually with considerable less money than when I went up," replied Quincy, seeing that Atiner was mystified. "What?" said Abner. "I mean a real black b'ar, one of those big, shag-gy fellers sech as you meet in the woods down in Maine." "Oh," said Quincy, "I was talking about an open bar, such as you find in bar-rooms and hotels." This time the laugh was on Abner, and he was consider- ably nettled by It. "Go on, Abner, igo on!" came from several voices, and thus reassured, he continued: "Wall, as I wuz goin' to say, I was out partridge shoot- ing down in Maine several years ago, and all I had with me was a fowlin' piece and a pouch of bird shot. In fact, I didn't have any shot left, for I'd killed 'bout forty par- tridges. I had a piece of strong twine with me, so I tied their legs together and slung 'em over my shoulder. I 316 QUIWCY ADAMS SAWTEE. was jest goin' to start for hum when I heerd the boughs crackin' behind me, and turnin' 'round I saw — Geewhilli- kins! — a big black b'ar not more'n ten feet from me. I had nothin' to shoot him with, and knew that the only way to save my life wuz to run for it. I jest bent over and threw the partridges on the ground, thinkin' as I did so that perhaps the b'ar would stop to eat them, and I could git away. I started to run, but caught my toe in some underbrush and went down ker-slap. I said all the prayers I knew in 'bout eight seconds, then got up, and started to run ag'in. Like Lot's wife, I couldn't help lookin' back, and there wuz the b'ar flat on his back. I went up to him kinder cautious, for I didn't know but he might be sham- min', them black b'ars are mighty cute ; but, no, he. wuz deader'n a door nail. I took the partridges back to town, and then a party on us came back and toted the b'ar home." Every one sat quietly for a moment, then Quincy asked with a sober face, "What caused the bear's death; was it heart disease?". "No," said Abner, " 'twas some sort of brain trouble. Yer see, when I threw those partridges enter the ground it brought a purty powerful strain onto my galluses. When we cut the b'ar up we found one of my pants buttons right in the centre of his brain." Abner's story was greeted with those signs of approval that w.ere so dear to his heart, and Quincy, realizing that when you are in Rome you must do as the Romans do, was not backward in his applause. All eyes were now turned to the Professor. "I don't think," said he, "that I can make up a He to match with those that have jist been told, but if any of you are enough interested in the truth to want to listen to a true story, I kin tell you one that came under my observa- tion a few days ago." All looked inquiringly at Strout, but none spoke. MRS. HAWKINS' BOARDING HOUSE. 817 "Wall," said he, "I s'pose I must consider as how silence means consent, and go ahead. Wall" he continued, "you all know, or most all on yer do, old Bill Tompkins, that lives out on the road to Montrose. This occurrence took place early las' summer. Old Bill hiss'elf is too close- mouthed to let on about it, but when I was over there the other day, arter givin' Lizzy Tompkins her music-lesson, I got talkin' with her mother, and one thing led to another, and finally I got the whole story outer her. Old Bill had a cow that they called 'Old Jinnie.' She was always mis- cheevous, but last year she'd been wusser'n ever. She'd git out of the barn nights, and knock down fences, and tramp down flower gardens, and everybody said she wuz a pesky noosance. One night old Bill and his family wuz seated 'round the centre table in the sittin'-room. There wuz Mary, 'his wife; and George, his oldest boy, a young fellow about eighteen; Tommy, who is a ten-year-older, and little Lizzy, who is about eight. George wuz readin' somethin' out of a paper to 'em, when they heerd a-runnin' and a-jumpin', and old Bill said, 'That varmint's got out of the barn and is rampagin' 'round agin.' The winder curt'ins wuz up, and old Jinnie must 'a' seed the light, for she run pell-mell agin the house, and drove her horns through the winder, smashin' four panes. Old Bill and George managed to git her back inter the barn and tied her up. "As they wuz walking back to the house, old Bill said, 'Consarn her picter, I'll make beef o' her to-morrer or my name ain't Bill Tompkins.' When they got back to the settin'-room, George said, 'How be yer goin' ter do it, dad?' 'Why, cut her throat,' said Bill. 'You can't do it,' said 'George, 'the law sez yer must shoot her fust in the temple.' 'All right,' said old Bill, 'you shoot and I'll oarve.' So next mornin' they led old Jinnie out with iher head p'inted towards the barn. George had loaded up the old musket, 318 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. and Stood Tjout thirty feet off. George didn't know just edzactly where the cow's temple wuz, but he imagined it must be somewhere atween her eyes, so he fired and hit her squar' in the forehead. That was enough for old Jinnie, she jist ducked her head, and with a roar like the bull of Bashan she put for Georige. He dropped the musket and went up the ladder inter the haymow livelier'n he ever did before, you kin bet. Old Jinnie struck the ladder and knocked it galley-west. Old Jinnie then turned 'round and spied little Tommy. He put, and she put arter him. There wasn't nothin' else to do, so Tommy took a high jump and landed in the pig-sty. Old Bill is kinder deef in one ear, and he didn't notice much what wuz goin' on on that side of him. He was runnin' the grindstone and puttin' a good sharp edge on his butcher knife, when he happened to look up and seed old Jinnie comin' head on. He dropped the knife and started for the house, thinkin' he'd dodge in the front door. Over went the grindstone and old Jinnie, too, but she wuz up on her feet ag'in quicker'n scat. She seemed to scent the old man, for when she got to the front door she turned in and then bolted right into the parlor. Old Bill heerd her comin', and he went head fust through the open winder, and landed in the orchard. He got up and run for a big apple-tree that stood out near the road, and never stopped till he'd clumib nearly to the top. Little Lizzie gave a yell like a catamount and ran behind the planner, whiah was sot out a little from the wall. Old Jin- nie went bunt inter the planner and made a sandwich of Lizzie, who wuz behind it. Mis' Tompkins heard Lizzie scream, and come to see what the matter was. When she see Jinnie she jist made strides for the wood-shed, and old Jinnie sashayed arter her. Mis' Tompkins went skitin' through the wood-shed. There wuz a pair of steps that led up inter the corn barn, and Mis' Tompkins got up there jist as old Jinnie walked off with the steps. Then old Jinnie MES. HAWKINS' BOARDING HOUSE. 319 took a walk outside and looked 'round as unconsarned as though nothin' had happened. Jist about this time one of them tin peddlers come along that druv one of them red carts with pots, and pans, and kittles, and brooms, and brushes, and mops hung all over it. He spied old Bill up in the tree, and sez he, 'What be yar doin', FarmeT Tomp- kins?' 'Pickin' apples,' said old Bill. He don't waste words on nobody. 'Ain't it rather early for apples?' in- quired the peddler. 'These are some I forgot to pick last fall,' replied old Bill. 'Anythin' in my line?' said the ped- dler. 'Ain't got no money,' said Bill. 'Hain't you got something you want to trade?' asked the peddler. 'Yes,' said Bill, 'I'll swap that cow over yonder; you kin have her for fifteen dollars, an' I'll take it all in trade.' 'Good milker?' said the man. 'Fust-class butter,' said old Bill. 'What do you want in trade?' said the man. 'Suit yerself,' said Bill, 'chuck it down side of the road there.' This was soon done, and the peddler druv up front of old Jinnie and went to git her, so as to tie her behind his waggin. She didn't stop to be led. Down went her head agin and she made for the peddler. He got the other side of his team jist as old Jinnie druv her horns 'tween the spokes of the forrard wheel. Down come the pots, and pans, and kittles, in ev'ry direction. A clotheshorse fell on the horse's back and off he started on a dead run, and that wuz the end of poor Jinnie. Before she could pull back her horns, round went the wheel and broke her neck. The peddler pulled up his horse and went back to see old Bill, who was climbin' down from the apple tree. 'What am I goin' to do about this?' said the peddler. 'I wuz countin' on drivin' her over to the next town and selHn' her or tradin' her off, but 1 hain't got no use for fresh beef.' 'Wall,' said old Bill, 'con- sidering circumstances we'll call the trade off. You kin keep your stuff and I'll keep my beef.' The peddler loaded up and druv off. Then old Bill went in and pulled Lizzie out 320 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. from behind the pianner, and put up the steps so Mrs. Tompkins could come down from the corn barn, and fished Tommy out of the pig-sty, and threw a bucket of water over him, and put up the ladder so George could git down from the haymow, and they all got round poor old Jinnie and stood as hard as they could and laughed." Here Pro- fessor Strout pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "That's how old Bill Tompkins got his beef." Tliere was a general laugh and a pushing back of chairs, and the whole company arose and went in various direc- tions to their afternoon work. Professor Strout went into the front entry, for he always entered and left the house by the front door. Quincy followed him, and closing the door that led into the din,ing-room, said, "Mr. Strout, I would like to see you in my room for half an hour on important business." "I guess 'tain't as important as some business of my own I've got to attend to this arternoon. I'm goin' over to the Centre to fix up my accounts as tax collector with the town treasurer." "I think my business is fully as important as that," said Quincy, "it relates to your appointment as postmaster." "Oh, you've got a hand in that, have yer?" asked Strout, an angry flush sufifusing his face. "I have both hands in it," replied Quincy imperturbably, "and it rests with you entirely whether I keep hold or let go" "Wall," said Strout, looking at his watch, "I kin spare you half an hour, if it will be as great an accommodation to yer as yer seem to think it will." And he followed Quincy upstairs to the latter's room. CHAPTER XXX. A SETTLEMENT. WHEN they entered the room Quincy motioned Strout to a chair, which he took. He then closed the door and, taking a cigar case from his pocket, offered a cigar to Strout, which the latter refused. Quincy then lighted a cigar and, throwing himself into an armchair in a comfortable position, looked straight at the Professor, who returned his gaze defiantly, and said : "Mr. Strout, there is an open account of some two month's standing between us, and I have asked you to come up here to-day, because I think it is time for a settle- ment" "I don't owe you nuthin'," said Strout, doggedly. "I think you owe me better treatment than you have given me the past two months," remarked Quincy, "but we'll settle that point later." "I guess I've treated you as well as you have me," re- torted Strout, with a sneer. "But you began it," said Quincy, "and had it all your own way for two months; I waited patiently for you to stop, but you wouldn't, so the last week I've been squaring up matters, and there is only one point that hasn't been settled. From what I have heard," continued Quincy, "I am satisfied that Miss Mason has received full reparation for any slanderous remarks that may have been started or circulated by you concerning herself." The Professor attentively regarded the pattern of the carpet on the floor. Quincy continued, "Miss Ljndy Putnam has repeated to S22 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYEE. me what she told Mr. Stiles about her visit to Boston, and attributed the distorted and untrue form in which it reached the inhabitants of this town to your well-known powers of invention. Am I right?" The Professor looked up. "I'll have somethin' to say when you git through," he replied. "I expect and ask no apology or reparation for what you've said about me," remarked Quincy. "You made your iboast that one of us had got to leave town, and it wouldn't be you. When I heard that I determined to stay at what- ever cost, and we'll settle this afternoon which one of us is going to change his residence." "I don't think you kin run me out o' town," said Strout, savagely. "Well, I don't know," rejoined Quincy. "Let us see what I have done in a week. You insulted Mr. Pettengill and his sister by not inviting them to the surprise party. I know it was done to insult me rather than them, but you will remember that we three were present, and had a very pleasant time. I was the lawyer that advised Deacon Mason not to loan that five hundred dollars to pay down on the store. I told the Deacon I would loan him five hundred dollars if the store was knocked down to you, but I would have had that store if it had cost me ten thousand dollars ins-tead of three. I was the one who put your war record in the hands of Mt. Tobias Smith, and I was the one that prepared the statement which showed how negligent you had been in attending to your duties as tax collector." "Payin' so much attention to other people's business must have made yer forget yer own," said Strout, shutting his teeth together with a snap. "Oh, no," remarked Quincy, with a laugh; "I had plenty of time left to take a hand in village politics, and my friend Mr. Stackpole was elected by a very handsome vote, as you A SETTLEMENT. 323 have no doubt heard," Strout dug his heel into the carpet, but said nothing. "Now," continued Quincy, "I've had your appointment as postmaster held up till you and I come to terms." "You're takin' a lot of trouble for nothin'," said Strout. "I can't be postmaster unless I have a store. I guess I kin manage to live with my music teachin' and organ playin' at the church." "I've thought of that," said Quincy. "I don't wish to go to extremes, but I will if it is necessary. Before you leave this room, Mr. Strout, you must decide whether you will work with me or against me in the future." "S'posin' I decide to work agin yer?" asked Strout; "what then?" "Well," said Quincy sternly, "if you drive me to it, I'll bring down a couple of good music teachers from Boston. Th'ey'U teach music for nothing, and I'll pay them good salaries. The church needs a new organ, and I'll make them a present of one, on condition that they get a new organist." Strout looked down reflectively for a few minutes, then he glanced up and a queer smile passed over his face. "S'posin' I switch 'round," said he, "and say I'll work with yer?" "If you say it and mean it, Mr. Strout," replied Quincy, rising from his chair, "I'll cross off the old score and start fresih from to-day. I'm no Indian, and have no vindictive feelings. You and I have been playing against each other and you've lost every trick. Now, if you say so, we'll play as partners. I'll give you a third interest in the grocery store for a thousand dollars. The firm name shall be Strout & Maxwell. I'll put in another thousand dollars to buy a couple of horses and wagons, and we'll take orders and de- liver goods free to any family within five miles of the store. 'Maxwell will have a third, and I'll have a third as silent 324 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. partner, and I'll see that you get your appointment as postmaster." Quincy looked at Strout expectantly, awaiting his an- swer. Finally it came. "Considerin' as how you put it," said Strout, "I don't think you and me will clash in the futur'." Quincy extended his hand, which Strout took, and the men shook hands. "That settles it," said Quincy. "Just half an hour!" exclaimed Strout,' looking at his watch. A loud knock was heard on the door. "I iguess A'bner has got tired o' waitin' and has come arter me," remarked Strout. Quincy opened the door and Mr. Stiles stood revealed. "Is Professor Strout here?" asked he. "Yes," said Quincy; "come in." "I guess I'll see him out here," continued Abner. "What I've got to say may 'be kinder private." "Come in, Abner," cried Strout, "and let's hear what's on your mind." "Wall," said Abner, looking askance at Quincy, "if yer satisfied, I am. Hiram Maxwell's jest come down from Mis' Putnam's, and Mis' Heppy Putnam's dead," — Quincy started on hearing this, — ."and Samanthy Green is at her wits' end, 'cause she never was alone in the house with a dead pusson afore, an' Hiram's goin' to take Betsy Green back to stay with her sister, and then he's goin' to take Miss Alice Pettengill down home, cuz Miss Petten- igill's most tired out; cuz, you see, she's been there since eight o'clock this mornin', and Mis' Putnam didn't die till about one o'clock, and Samanthy says 'Mis' Putnam took on awful, so you could hear her all over the house,, and Miss^ Lindy Putnam, she's goin' to take the next train to Bosting— she's goin', bag and baggage — and I've got to A SETTLEMENT. 325 drive her over to the station, and Bob Wood, he's comin' along with a waggin to carry her trunks and bandboxes and sich, and so I've come to tell yer, Professor, that I can't take yer over to the Centre this arternoon, no how." "That's all right, Abner," said Strout; "considerin' as how things has gone, to-morrow will do just as well, but I wish you'd drop in and tell the town treasurer that I'm goin' into business with Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Sawyer here," — ^Abner's eyes dilated, — "under the firm name of Strout, Maxwell, & Co." "No!" interrupted Quincy, "let the sign read, Strout & Mlaxwell." "And," continued Mr. Strout, "Mr. Sawyer here is goin' to push through my app'intment as postmaster." By this time Abner's mouth was wide open. Quincy saw it, and imagined the conflict going on in poor Abner's mind. "What Mr. Strout says is correct," remarked Quincy, "but you have no time to lose now. Perhaps to-night Mr. Strout will explain the matter more fully to you." Abner turned, without a word, and left the room. "Mr. Stiles is a faithful friend of yours," said Quincy, turning to the Professor. "Yes," assented Strout; "Abner's a very good shaft horse, but he wouldn't be of much vally as a lead." Quincy again extended his cigar case. This time the Professor did not refuse, but took two. Holding up one of them between his fingers', he said, "This is the one I didn't take wlhen I came in." "I will have the partnership papers drawn up in a few days, Mr. Strout, ready for signature, and I will write at once to my friends in Washington, and urge them to see the Postmaster General, and have your appointment made as soon as possible." 326 QTJINCT ADAMS SAWYER. "Yer don't let no grass grow under yer feet, do yer?" said Strout. Quincy was a little taken aback by this remark, for he had not anticipated a compliment from the Professor. He turned to him and said, "Until you forfeit my esteem, we are friends, and it is always a pleasure to me to help my friends." The men shook hands again, and the Professor left the room. "Not a bad man at heart," soliloquized Quincy. "I am glad the affair has had such a pleasant termination. Poor Alice! What a time she must have had with Mrs. Putnam, and so Lindy is g'oing to keep her word, and not stay to the funeral. Well, knowing what I do, I don't blame her. Perhaps Mrs. Putnam told Alice that Lindy was not her own child, for Alice would not accept the fortune, I know, if she thought she was wronging Lindy by doing so. I'll go home," — he smiled as he said this, — "and probably Alice will tell me all about it." He went down stairs, and not seeing Mrs. Hawkins in the dining-room, walked out into the kitchen, where she was hard at work washing the dinner dishes. "Law, Mr. Sawyer, why didn't you holler for me ef you wanted anything?" "I don't wish for anything particularly," said Quincy, "but I do wish to compliment you on your chicken salad; it was as fine as any I ever ate at Young's, or Parker's, in Boston, and," continued he, "here are twelve dollars." He held out the money to 'her, she wiped her hands on her apron. "What's that fur?" she asked. "I've got six dollars of your money now." "That's for Mandy," said Quincy; "and this," pressing the money into her hand, "is for four weeks' room rent; I am liable to come here any time during the next month. I A SETTLEMENT. 82'3 am going into business with Mr. Strout and Mr. Maxwell — we're going to run the grocery store over here, and it will be very handy to be so near to the store until we get the business es.tablished. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawkins," and he took her hand, which was still wet, in his, and shook it warmly. He turned to leave the house by the kitdien door, but IMrs. Hawkins interposed. "You better go out the front way," said she, and she ran before him and opened the door leading to the front entry, and then the front door. As he passed out, she said, "I wish you success, MV. Sawyer, and we'll gin you all our trade." "Thank you!" said Quincy. He walked down tihe path, opened the front gate, and as he closed it raised his hat to Mrs. Hawkins, who stood in the front doorway, her thin, angular face wreathed in smiles. "Wall," said she, as she closed the front door and walked back into the kitchen, "wJiat lies some folks tell. Now, that Professor Strout has alius said that Mr. Sawyer was so stuck up that he wouldn't speak to common folks. Wall, I think he's a real gentleman. 'T won't do for any one to run him down to me arter this." Here she thought of her money, and, spreading out the tlhree bills in her hand, she opened the kitchen door and screamed at the top of her voice, "Jonas! Jonas!! Jonas!!!" There were no signs of Jonas. "Where is that man? He's never 'round when he's wanted." "What is it, Marthy?" said a voice behind her. Turning, she saw her husband puffing away at his brierwood pipe. "I thought you went out to the barn," said she, "to help Albner hitch up?" "Wall, I did," he replied; "but it didn't take two on us long to do that. I eat so /much chicken salad that it laid kinder heavy on my stummick, so I went out in the wood- 328 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEE. shed to have a smoke. But where did you git all that money?" "Mr. Sawyer took the front room for two weeks and paid for it ahead, and do you know he said my chicken salad was jist as good as Mrs. Young and Mrs. Parker makes down to Bosting." "I don't know Mrs. Young nor Mrs. Parker," said Jonas, "but on makin' chicken salad I'll match Mrs. Hawkins agin 'em any day;" and he went out in the wood-shed to finish his smoke. As Quincy walked down the road towards the Pettengill house his mind was^ busy with his thougihts. "To think," said he to himself, "that while I was listening to those stories, to call them by no worse name, at the dinner table, the woman I love was witnessing the death agony and listening to the last words of a dear friend — ^the woman who's going to leave her a fortune. Now that sijie knows that sihe's an heiress, I can speak; she never would have listened to me, knowing that she was poor and I was rich, and I never could have spoken to her with that secret in my mind that Mrs. Putnam told me — that she was going to leave her all her money. I am so glad for Alice's sake, even if she does not love me. She can have the best medi- cal attendance now, and she will be able to give all her time to her literary work, for which she has a decided genius. Won't she be delighted when I tell her that Leo- pold has placed all her stories and wants her to write a book?" As he reached the front gate he saw Hiram driving up the road and Alice was with .him. As Hiram stopped, Quincy stepped forward and took Alice's hand to assist her in alighting from the buggy. "Oh, Mir. Sawyer," said sihe, "have you heard that Mrs. Putnam is dead, and I've had such a terrible day with her?" Her nervous system had been wrought to its highest A SETTLEMBNT. 329 tension by what she had undergone during the past six hours. She burst into a flood of tears. Then she tottered and would have fallen if Quinoy had not grasped her. "Can you walk?" he asked. She took a step forward, but he saw at a glance that she had not sufficient strength to reach her room. "Open the gate, Hiram. Then give the door-bell a good sharp ring, so that Mandy will come quickly." He took her in his' arms and went up the path, by the astonished Mandy, and upstairs to Alice's room, where he laid her tenderly upon her bed. Turning to Miandy, who had followed close at his heels, he said: "She is not sick, only nervous and worn out. If you need me, call me." He went into his own room and thanked Heaven that he had been at hand to render her the service that she so much needed. When he went down to supper Mandy told him that Miss Alice was asleep, and she guessed she'd be all right in the morning. CHAPTER XXXI. AN INHERITANCE. QUII>rCY reached his room at Mrs. Hawkins's board- ing house about midnight of the day of the town meeting. About the same hour Mrs. Heppy Putnam awoke from a troubled sleep and felt a pain, like the thrust of a knife blade, through her left side. The room was dark and cold, the wood fire in the open gratp haying died out a couple of hours before, while a cool wind was blovying with great force outside. iMlrs. Putnam came of the old stock which considered it a virtue to sufifer and be silent, rather than call out and be saved. So she lay for five long hours suffering intense pain, but declaring to herself, with all the sturdiness of an old Roman warrior or an Indian chief, that she would not ask for any assistance "till it wuz time for folks to git up." This delay was fatal, or was destined to become so, but she did not know it ; she had had colds before, and she had always got well. Why should'nt she now? It is a strange vagary of old people to consider themselves just as young as they used to be, notwithstanding their advanced years. To the majority of the old people, the idea of death is not so appalling as the inability to work and the incapacity to enjoy the customary pleasures of life. Mrs. Putnam had always been an active, energetic woman until she had lost her power to walk as the result of rheumatic fever; in fact, it was always acknowledged and said by the country folk that she was the better half of the matrimonial firm of Silas and Hepsibeth Putnam. Since her husband's failure to mount to Heaven on the day fixed AN INHERITANCE. 331 for the Second Advent she had had entire control of the family finances. Her investments, many of which had been sugges,ted by her deceased son, J. Jones Putnam, had 'been very profitable. She owned the house in which she lived, which was the largest, best finished, and best furnished one in the town of Bastborough. It occupied a commandirtg position on the top of a hill, and from its upper windows could be obtained a fine view of the surrounding country. The soil at Mason's Corner W£ts particularly fertile, and this fact had led to the rapid growth of the village, which was three miles from the business centre of Eastborough, and only a mile from the similar part of the adjoining town of Moiitrose. Back of the Putnam homestead were the best barns, car- riage houses, sheds and other outbuildings to be found in the town, but for years they had been destitute of horses, cattle, and other domestic animals. Mi". Putnam had disliked dogs because they killed sheep, and Mrs. Putnam detested cats. For years no chanticleer had awakened echoes during the morning hours, and no hens or chickens wandered over the neglected farm. The trees in the large orchard had not been pruned for a long tiime, and the large vegetable garden was overrun with grass and weeds. Back of the orchard and the vegetable garden, and to tihe right and left of the homestead, were about a hundred and sixty acres of arable pasture and wood-land, the whole forming what could be eas'ily made the finest farm in the town. The farm had been neglected simply because the income from her investments was more than sufficient for the sup- port of the family. The unexpended income had been added to the principal, until Mrs. Putnam's private for- tune now amounted to fully fifty thousand dollars, invested 332 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. in good securities, together with the house and farm, wihich were free from mortgage. When the first streaks of morning reached the room in which Mrs. Putnam lay upon her bed of pain, she seized one of her crutches, and pounded vigorously upon the floor. In a short time Samanthy Green entered the room. She was buttoning up her dress as she came in, and her hair was in a dishevelled condition. "Why, what on earth's the matter? You wheeze like our old pump out in the 'barn. You do look real sick, to be sure." "Wall, if you don't like the looks of me," said Mrs. Put- nam sharply, "don't look at me." "But didn't you pound?" asked Samanthy. "Don't you want me to go for the doctor?" "No," replied Mrs. Putnam, "I don't want no doctor. The fust thing that I want you to do is to go and comb that frowzy pate of yourn, and when you git that done I want yer to make me a mustard plaster 'bout as big as that;" and she held up her hands about a foot apart. "Now go, and don't stand and look at me as though I wuz a circus waggin." Samanthy left the room quickly, but she had no sooner closed the door when Mrs. Putnam called out her name in a loud voice, and Samanthy opened the door and looked in. "Did you call, marm?" she asked. "Of course I did," said Mrs. Putnam testily. "I guess ye wouldn't have come back if yer hadn't known I did." Mrs. Putnam was evidently in a bad temper, and Sa- manthy had learned by years of experience to keep a close mouth under such circumstances, so she waited for Mrs. Putnam's next words without replying. Finally Mrs Put- nam spoke. "I wish you'd bring up some wood and start a fire, the room's kinder cold." AN INHERITANCE. 333 When Samanthy reached the kitchen she found Lindy there. "Why, Miss Lindy," said she, "what are you up so early for?" "I heard mother pounding and I thought she might be sick." "She is awful sick," rejoined Samanthy; "I never saw her look so poorly afore; she seems to be all choked up. She wants a big mustard plaster and a fire up in her room, and I don't know which to do fust. Oh!" she cried, "I must comb my hair before I go back ;" and she wet a brush and commenced brushing out her long brown hair, which, with her rosy cheeks, formed her two principal claims to ffood looks. "Sit down," said Lindy, "and I'll fix your hair up much quicker than you can do it yourself." "And much better, too," added Samanthy thankfully. "While you're building the fire," continued Lindy, "Pll mix up the mustard plaster." When Samanthy entered the chamber with the materials for the fire, M'rs. Putnam opened her eyes and said sharply, "Did yer bring that plaster?" "No," said Samanthy, "I thought I would build the fire fust." "Wall," said Mrs. Putnam, "I want the plaster fust, and you gO' right down stairs and mix it up quick." When Samanthy returned to the kitchen she found that Lindy had the plaster all ready. Samanthy took it, and started upstairs. Lindy said to her, "Don't tell her that I made it." As she said this she stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door. As Samanthy approached the bedside with -the plaster, Mrs. Putnam looked up and asked, "Did you make that plaster, Samanthy?" "Yes'm," replied Samanthy. 834 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. "You're lyin', Samanthy Green, and you know yer are. You can't fool me. Didn't I hear yer talkin' to somebody in the kitchen?" "Yes'm," assented Samanthy. "Wall," rejoined Mrs. Putnam, "of course I know who it wuz yer wuz talkin' to. Did she make the plaster?" "Yes'm," again assented Samanthy. "Give it to me," said Mrs. Putnam. Samanthy passed it to her, and the old lady crumpled it in her hands and threw it across the room. "Now go down stairs, Samanthy Green, and make me a mustard plaster, as I told yer to, and when I git up outer this I'll see if I can'-t git sometody to wait on me that kin tell the truth 'thout my havin' to help 'em." In the course of half an hour the new plaster was made and applied, and a bright fire was shedding its warmth into the room. "Go down stairs and git yer breakfast," said Mrs. Put- nam. " 'Tis a trifle early, but I hearn tell that lyin' makes people hungry." As Samanthy gave her an inquiring look, Mrs. Putnam said, "No, I don't want nothin' to eat or drink nuther, but when yer git the dishes washed I want yer ter go on an errand for me." It was half past six when Samanthy Green again stood in Mrs. Putnam's room. "I want yer to go right down to Zeke Pettengill's and tell his sister Alice that I want her to come right up here. Tell her it's my las' sickness, and I won't take 'no' for an answer. Be sure you put it to her jest as I do; and Sa- manthy," as Samanthy opened the door and was leaving the room, "say, Samanthy, don't git anybody to do the errand! for you." About ten minutes after Samanthy left the house, Lindy Putnam entered the sick room. Mrs. Putnam's pain had AN rNgERITANCE. 835 been relieved somewhat by the mustard, and this relief re- stored, to a gre^t extent, her usual vigor of mind. "What are you up herp for?" cried Mrs. Putnam, a look of displeasure clouding her face. "I knew Satn^nthy had gone out, and so I came up to see if I could do anything for you, mother." "Don't mother me. I ain't your mother, and I mean ev'rybody shall know it soon's I'm dead." "I've had to say mother before other people," explained Lindy, "and that's why I forgot myself then. Pray ex- cuse me." "Oh, don't put on yer citified airs when yer talkin' to me. Ain't yer glad I'm goin' ter die?" "I hope you will get better, Mrs. Futnaim," answered Lindy. "You know better," rejoined Mrs. Putnam. "You'll be glad when I'm gone, for then you kin go gallivantin' 'round and spend the money that my son worked hard fur." "I've used very little of it," said Lindy; "less than the interest; I have never touched the principal." Lindy still remained standing at the foot of the bed. "Didn't yer hear rne ,say I didn't want nuthin'?" asked Mrs. Putnam. "I will leave the room then," replied Lindy quietly. "I Vf'\sh you would," said M'Ts. Putnam, "and you'll do me a f^yor if you'll pacjc yer duds as quick las yer ican and g\^ pyt O'f t^lP house and never come back agin." "I wi}} leave t^e room, but I cannot leave the house while you are alive," remarked Lindy firmly. "Why not?" said Mrs. Putnam. "I want to die in peace, and I shall 'go tntjch easier if I kqow I haven't got to set my eyes on -yoyr face agin." "I promised Jones," said Lindy, "that I would never leave you while you were aliye." "Oh, you promised Jones, did yer?" cried Mrs. Putnam 336 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. with a sneer. "Wall, Jones will let you off on yer promise jest to 'blige me, so yer needn't stay any longer." As Lindy walked towards the door, Mrs. Putnam spoke again. "Did yer ever tell anybody I wasn't yer mother?" Lindy hesitated. 'Why don't you out with it," said Mrs. Put- nam, "and say no, no matter if it is a lie? Samanthy can lie faster'n a horse can trot, and I know you .put her up to it." "I have been impudent and disrespectful to you many times, Mrs. Putnam, when you were cross to me, but I never told you a deliberate lie in my life. I have told one person that you were not my mother." "What did yer do it fur?" asked Mrs. Putnam. "I wished to retain his good opinion," repHed Lindy. "Who was it?" inquired Mrs. Putnam eagerly. Lindy did not answer. "Oh, you won't tell!" said Mrs. Putnam. "Wall, I bet I can guess; it's that feller that's boardin' over to Pettingill's." Mrs. Putnam saw the blood rise in Lindy's face, and she chuckled to herself. "What reason have you for forming such an opinion?" asked Lindy. "Wall, I can kinder put two and two together," said Mrs. Putnam. "The day Alice Pettengill came over here with him you two wuz down in the parlor together, and 1 had to pound on the floor three times afore I could make him hear. I knew you must be either spoonin' or abusin' me. It was with difficulty that Lindy kept back the words which rose to her lips, but she said nothing. "Did yer tell him that I wuz goin' to leave my money to some one else?" "It wasn't necessary," said Lindy, "I judged from some things that he said that you had told him yourself." AN INHEEITANCE. 337 "Did he tell you who it wuz?" persisted Mrs. Putnam. "No," said Lindy. "I did my best to find out, but he wouldn't tell me." ' "Good for him," cried Mrs. Putnam. "Then ye don't know?" "I can put two and two together," replied Lindy. "But where'd yer git the two and two?" asked Mrs. Put- nam. "Oh, I have surmised for a long time," continued Lindy. "This morning I asked Samanthy where she was going, and she said down to Pettengill's. Then I knew." "I told her not to tell," said Mrs. Putnam, "the lyin' jade. If I git up off this bed she'll git her walkin' ticket." "She's ready to go," said Lindy; "she told me this morn- ing that she'd wait until you got a new girl." Mrs. Putnam closed her eyes and placed both of her hands over her heart. Despite her fortitude the intense pain wrung a groan from her. Lindy rushed forward and dropped on her knees beside the bed. "Forgive me, Mrs. Putnam," said she, "but you spoke such cruel words to me that I could not help an- swering you in the same way. I am so sorry. I loved your son with all my heart, and I had no rigiht to speak so to his mother, no matter what she said to me." The paroxysm of pain had passed, and Mrs. Putnam was her old self again. Looking at the girl who was kneeling with her head bowed down she said, "I guess both of us talked about as we felt; as for loving my son, yer had no right to, and he had no right to love you." "But we were brother and sister," cried Lindy, looking up. " 'Twould have been all rig'ht if he'd let it stop there," replied Mrs. Putnam. "Who put it into his head that there was no law agin a man marryin' his adopted sister? You wuz a woman grown of eighteen, and he wuz only a young boy of sixteen, and you made him love yer and turn 338 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. agin his mother, and then we had ter send him away from home ter keep yer apart, and then you ran after him, and then he died, and it broke my heart. You wuz the cause of it, but for yer he would (be Hvin' now, a comfol-t to his poor old mother. I hated yer then for what yer did. Ev'ry time I look at yer I think of the happiness you stole from me, an' I hate yef Wusser'ti ever." "Oh, mother, mother !" sobbed Lindy. "I'm not your mother," screamed Mirs. Putnam. "I s'pose you must 'have had one, but you'll never know who she wuz; she didn't care nuthin' fer yer, fof she left yer- in the road, and Silas was fool enough to Jjick yer up and bring yer home. What yer right name is nobody knows, and mebbe yer ain't got none." At this taunt Lindy arose to her feet and looked de- fiantly at Mrs. Putnam. "You are ilot telling the truth, Mrs. Putnam," said the girlj "you kttow who my parents were, but you will not tell me." "That's right," said Mrs. Putnatti, "git mad and show yer temper; that's better than sheddin' crocodile's tears, as yer've been doin'; yer've been a cUrse to me from the day I fust set eyes on yer. I've said I hate yer, and I do, an' I'll never forgive yer fer what yer've done to oie." Lindy saw that words were Useless. Perhaps Mrs. Put- nam might recover, and if she did riot j^rovoke Her tod far she might relent some day arid tell her what fehe knew about her parents; so s'he walked to the door ahd opened it. Then she turned and said, "Good-by, Mrs. Putnam, I truly hope that you will recover." "Wall, I sha'n't," said Mrs. PutnaW. "'I'm goin' to die, I want ter die. I want ter see Jones; I want ter talk ter him; I want ter tell him how much I loved hini — how much I've suffered through yer. I'm goin' ter tell him How I've hated yer and whdt fer, and iithen I git through talkin' to him, I'll guarantee he'll be nly wdy o' thinkin'." As the old woman said this, with an almost superhuman AIT INHERITANCE. 389 effort she raised herself to a sitting posture, pointed her finger at l^indy, and gave utterances to a wild, hysterical laugh that almost froze the blood in the poor girl's veins. Lindy slaimined the door behind her, rushed to her own room, locked the door, and threw herself face downward upon the bed. Should she ever forget those last fearful words, that vengeful face, that taunting finger, or that mocking laugh? Saimanthy took Alice up to Mrs. Putnam's room about eight o'cloclf. Alice knelt by the bedside. She could not see the qld lady's face, but she took her withered hands in hers, and caressed them lovingly, saying, "Aunt Heppy, I am sorry you are so sick. Have you had the doctor?" The old lady drew the young girl's head down close to her and kissed her upon the cheek. "The docter kin do me no good. I've sent fer yer becuz I know yer love me, and I wanted to know that one person would be sorry when I wuz gone.'' "I'm so sorry,"' said Alice, "that I cannot see to help you, but you are not going to die ; you must have the doc- tor at oupe." "No," said M'rs. Putnam, "I want to die, I want to see my boy. J sent for you becuz I wanted to tell you that I am gain' to leave this house and farm and all my money to you." "To me !" cried Ahcei astonished. "Why, how can you talk so. Aunt Heppy? You have a daughter, who is your legal heir; how cquld you ever think of robbing your own flesh and bipod of her inheritance?" "She's no flesh apd blood 'pf mine!" "What!" cried Alice, "isn't Li^dy your own child?" "No," said Mrs. Putnam savagely. "Silas and me didn't think we'4 have any children, so we 'dopted her jest afore we moved down from New Hampshire and settled in this town." 340 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "Do you know who her parents were?" inquired Alice. "Alice, what did you do with that letter I gave you the las' time you were here?" "It is locked up in my writing desk at home," answered Alice. "What did yer promise to do with it?" said Mrs. Putnam. "I promised," replied Alice, "not to let any one see it, and to destroy it within twenty-four hours after your death." "And you will keep yer promise?" asked the old woman. "My word is sacred," said AHce solemnly. "Alice Pettengill," cried Mirs. Putnam, "if you break your word to'me I shall be sorry that I ever loved you; I shall repent that I made you my heiress." And her voice rose to a sharp, shrill tone. "I'll haunt you as long as you live." The girl shrank back from her. "Don't mind a poor old woman whose hours are num- bered, but you'll keep yer promise, won't yer, Alice?" And she grasped both Alice's hands convulsively. "Aunt Heppy," said Alice, "I've given you my promise, and I'll keep my word whatever happens. So don't worry any more about it, Auntie." For a few moments Mrs. Putnam remained quiet; then she spoke in clear,even tones. Not a word was lost upon Alice. "This adopted daughter of mine has been a curse to me ever since I knew her. She was two years older than Jones. They grew up together as brother and sister, but she wasn't satisfied with that, she fell in love with my son, and she made him love her. She turned him agin his mother. She found oiit that there wuz no law agin a man's marryin' his ladopted sister. We had to send him away from home, but she followed him. She wuz goin' to elope with him, but I got wind of it, and I stopped that; then Jones died away from home and left her all his money. He wuz so bitter agin me that he put in his will that she AN INHERITANCE. 341 was not to touch a dollar of my money, but better that than to have her marry him. I stopped that!" and the old woman chuckled to herself. Then her mood changed. "Such a marriage would 'a' been a sin agin God and man," she said sternly. "She robbed me of my son, my only boy, but I'll git even with her. She asked me this mornin' if I knew who her parents wuz. I told her no, that she was a waif picked up in a New Hampshire road, but I lied to her. I had to." "But do you know who they were?" said Alice. "Certainly I do," said Mrs. Putnam; "that letter you've got, and that yer promised to destroy, tells all about 'em, but she shall never see it. Never! Never!! Never!!!" Again she rose to a sitting posture, and again that wild, mocking laugh rang through the house. Lindy, still lying upon her bed in her room, heard it, shuddered, and covered her ears with her hands to shut out the terrible sound. Samanthy, in the kitchen, heard it, and saying to herself, "Mts. Putnam has gone crazy, and only that blind girl with her," ran upstairs. ■When Mrs. Putnam uttered that wild laugh, Alice started from her chair with beating heart and a frightened look upon her face. As the door opened and Samanthy entered, Alice stepped forward. She could not see who it was, but supposing it was Lindy, she cried out, "Oh, Lindy, I'm so glad you've come!" Mrs. Putnam had fallen back exhausted upon her pil- low; when she heard the name Lindy she tried to rise again, but could not. But her indomitable spirit still sur- vived. "So you've come back, have you?" she shrieked. "Yer couldn't let me die in peace. You want to hear more, do you? Well, I'll tell you the truth. I know who your par- ents are, but I destroyed the letter; it's burned. That's what I had the fire built for this mornin'. You robbed me of my son and I've got even with yer." The old woman 342 QtriNCT ADAMS SAWYEK, pointed her finger at poor Samanthy, who stood petrified in the doorway, and shrieked again, "Go!" and she pointed her withered finger toward the door, "and hunt for your parents." The astonished Samanthy finally plucked up courage to close the door; she ran to Lindy's room and pounded upon the door until Lindy was forced to admit her; then the frightened girl told Lindy what she had heard, and again the worse than orphan threw herself upon her bed and prayed that she, too, might die. Alice did not swoon, but she sank upon the floor, over- come by the horror of the scene. No sound came from the bed. Was she dead? Alice groped her way back to the chair in which she had previously sat; she leaned over and listened. Mrs. Putnam was breathing' still — faint, short breaths. Alice took one of her hands in hers and prayed for her. Then she prayed for the unhappy girl. Then she thought of the letter and the promise She had made. Should she keep her promises to the dying wom- an, and thus be a party to the wronging of this jpoor girl? "Mrs. Putnam! Mrs. Putnam!! Aunt Heppy!!!" she cried; "take back your fortune, I do not want it; bnly re- lease me from my oath. Oh, that I could send for that letter and put it back into her hands before she dies! If Mr. Sawyer were only here; but I do not know where to find him." For hours, it seemed ages to Alice, she remained by the bedside of the dying woman, seeing nothing; but listening intently, and hoping that she would revive, hear her words, and release her from that horrid oath. Suddenly, Alice started; the poor old wrinkled, wasted hand that she held in hers, was cold — ^^so cold — 'she leaned over and put her ear above the old woman's lips. There was no sound o? breathing. She pulled down the bed- clothes and placed her hand upon her heart. It was still. AN INHEBITANCE. 343 Mrs. Putnam had gone to meet the boy she had loved and lost. Feeling her way along the wall, she reached the door. Flinging it wide open, she cried, "'Samantha! Lindy!" Samanthy came to the foot of the stairs. "What is it, Miss Pettengill?" asked she. "She's dead," said Alice, and she sank down upon the stairway. Samanthy ran quickly upstairs. She went first to Miss Lindy's room and told her that all was over; then she came back, went into Mrs. Putnam's room, pulled down the curtains, went to the bed and laid the sheet over Mrs. Putnam's face. She looked at the fire to see that it was safe, came out and closed the door. Then she helped Alice down stairs, led her into the parlor and seated her in an easy-chair. "I'll bring you a nice cup of hot tea," said she; "I've just made some for dinner." Lindy came down stairs and went to the front door. Hiram was there, smoking a cigar, and beating his arms to keep warm. He bad been waiting outside for a couple of hours, and he was nearly frozen. "Mr. Maxwell," said Lindy; and Hiram caime up the steps. "Mrs. Putnam is dead," said she. "She expired just a few moments ago, about one o'clock," she continued, looking at her watch. "I want you to go right down to Mrs. Hawkins's and bring Betsy Green back to stay with her sister ; then tell Mr. Stiles to come up at once with the buggy and a wagon to carry my trunks to the station. Tell Mr. Stiles I am going to Boston on the next train. When you come back you can take Wiss Pettengill home. She will be through her lunch by the time you get 'back. After you've taken her home, I want you to go and get Mrs. Pinkham, the nurse; tell her Mrs. Putnam is dead, and that I want her to come and lay her out. Then drive over to Montrose and tell Mr. Tilton, the undertaker, that I 344 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. want him to make all the arrangements for the funeral. And take this for your trouble," said she, as she passed him a five dollar bill. "Oh, that's too much," cried Hiram, drawing back. "Take it," said Lindy, with a smile; "I have plenty more — more than I need — more than I know what to do with." As Hiram drove off he said to himself, "Lucky girl; she's mighty putty, too. I wonder that city feller didn't shine up to her. I s'pose she's comin' back to the funeral." As Lindy turned to go upstairs she looked into the par- lor, and saw Alice sitting with her head towed upon her hand. Her first impulse was to go in and try to justify her- self in the eyes of this girl, with whom she knew that Mr. Sawyer was in love; but no, she was but a waif, with no name, no birthright, no heritage; that woman had cut her off from her people. Truly, she had avenged her fancied wrongs. So Lindy went upstairs to her room, and remained there until after Alice went home. When Abner Stiles returned from Bastborough, after having seen Lindy Putnam and all her belongings safe on board the Boston train, he stopped at the Putnam house to see if he could be of any further service. Mrs. Pink- ham had arrived some time before, and had attended to those duties which she had performed for many years for both the young and old of Mason's Corner, who had been called to their long home. Mr. Tilton, the undertaker from Miontrose, had come over immediately, and had given the necessary professional service which such sad occa- sions demand. Mts. Pinkham called to Mr. Tilton, and he came to the door. "No; there is really nothing- you can do, Mr. Stiles, un- less you will be so kind as to drive around to Deacon Mason's, Mr. Pettengill's, and Mrs. Hawkins's, and inform them that the funeral will be from the church, at two AN INHERITANCE. 345 o'clock Friday afternoon. I will see that you are paid for your services." Undertakers are naturally polite and courteous men. They step softly, speak low, and are even-tempered. Their patrons do not worry them with questions, nor antagonize their views of the fitness of things. When Abner reached his boarding house, after making his numerous calls, it was about five o'clock ; as he went up- stairs he noticed that the door of Strout's room was ajar. In response to his knock, the Professor said, "Came in." "Wall, how do find things?" said Abner, as he entered the room. . "By lookin' for 'em," said the Professor, with a jaunty air. "Oh, yer know what I mean," said Abner, throwing him- self into a chair and looking inquiringly at Strout. "What was goin' on this noon 'tween you and thait city feller?" "Well, you see," continued Strout, "Mr. Sawyer and me have been at swords' points the las' two months over some pussonal matters. Well, he kinder wanted to fix up things, but he knew I wouldn't consent to let up on him 'less he treated me square ; so I gets a third interest in the grocery store, the firm name is to be Strout & Maxwell, and I'm to be postmaster; so, you see, I got the best end after all, jest as I meant to from the fust. But, see here. Stiles, Mr. Sawyer and I have agreed to keep our business and our pussonal matters strictly private in the futer, and you mustn't drop a word of what I've told yer to any livin' soul." "I've carried a good many of yer secrets 'round with me," responded Abner, "and never dropped one of 'em, as far as I know." "Oh, yer all right, old 'man,"said the Professor; "but, yer know, for the last two months our game has been to 346 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEE. keep talkin'; now it will pay us best to keep our mouths shet." "Mine's shut," said Abner; "now, what do I git? That job in the grocery store that you promised me?" , "Well, you see," said Strout, "when I made yer that promise, I expected to own the whole store, but now, yer see. Maxwell will want ter pick one of the men." "Yds, I see," said Abner; "but that leaves one fer you to pick, and I'm ready to be picked." "Yes, I know," answered Strout; "but the work is goin to be very hard, liftin' barrels and big boxes, and I'm afraid you couldn't stand it very long." A disappointed look came over Abner's face; he mused for a moment, then he broke out, "Yes, I see ; I'm ajl right for light work, sech as tellin' lies 'bout people and spyin' out their actions, and miakin' believe I've seen things that I never heard of, and hearin' things that were never said; but when it comes to good, clean, honest work, like liftin' barrels and rollin' hogsheadb, the other feller gets the job. All right. Professor!" said he, getting up and walking tow- ards the door; "when you want anythin' in my line, let me know." And he went out and slammed the door behind him. As he went upstairs to his room, he said to himself, "I have sorter got the opinion that the Professor took what wuz given him, instid of gittin* what he asked fer. I kinder guess that it'll pay me to be much more partickler about number one in the futer than I've been." CHAPTER XXXII. AUNT ELLA. DEACON MASON had an early caller Wednesday ■morning. He was out in the barn polishing up his silver-plated harness, for he was going to the funeral on Friday with his family. Hiram had given him notice that he would have to go up to the store at once. Tlie Deacon didn't have anybody in mind to take Hiram's place, and thought he might as well get used to doing his own work until he came across the right party. He heard a voice. It said, "Good mornin', Deacon Mlason;" and, looking up, he saw Abner Stiles standing before him. "Good mornin', Abner," answered the Deacon, pleas- antly; "what does the Professor want?" "I don't know," said Abner; "I heerd that Hiram was goin' to leave yer, so I came 'round to see if yer wanted ter hire a man." "Do yer know of one?" asked the Deacon with a smile. "That's all right. Deacon," said Abner. "I don't blame yer fer havin' yer little joke. I've worked so long far the Professor that I expect to have it flung up at me. But I've renounced the Evil One and all his wicked ways, and I want to be taken into a good Christian home, and even- tooally jine the church." "While the lamp holds out to burn, The vilest sinner may return," quoted the Deacon, as he hung up one piece of harness and took down another. 348 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "That's true as Gospel," said Abner; "and I hope you'll see it's your duty, as I've heerd Parson Howe say, to save the brand from the burnin'." "Well, you go in and talk to Mrs. Mason," said the Dea- con; "she's the one that wants the work done, and if she's saitisfieH to give yer a trial, it's all the same to me." "Thank yer. Deacon," answered Abner. "There's one p'int in my favor, Deacon ; I hain't got no girl, and I sha'n't take any of your time to go courtin';" and with this sly dig at Hiram, he went in to settle his fate with the Dea- con's wife. On that same Wednesday morning all of the Pettengill family were together at the breakfast table. The con- versation naturally turned to Mrs. Putnam's death, and Ezekiel remarked "that she was a nice old lady, and that she and his mother were great friends. It beats all," con- tinued he, "the way Lindly has acted. Abner Stiles told me that she took the half-past three train to Boston, and he said Bob Wood took over an express wagon full of trunks. Samanthy Green told Stiles that Lindy hadn't left a single thing in the house that belonged to her, and it don't look as though she was comin' back tO' the funeral." During this recital, Alice listened intently. She flushed then grew pale, and finally burst into tears. All present, of course, attributed her agitation to her well known love for Mrs. Putnam. "Shall I go upstairs with you, Sis?" asked Ezekiel. ''No," said Alice, drying her eyes, "I'm going into the parlor. I told Mandy to build a fire there, and I want you and Uncle Ike and Mr. Sawyer to come with me." When they were gathered in the parlor, Alice began her story. Every word said by the dead! woman had burned itself deep into her memory, and from the time she entered the sick room until she fell exhausted upon the stairway, after calling loudly for Samanthy and Lindy, not a word was missing from the thrilling narrative. Her auidience. AUNT ELLA. S49 including even Quincy, listened intently to the dramatic- ally told story, and they could almost see the frenzied face, the pointed finger, and hear the wild, mocking laugh. For a few moments nothing was said. Finally, Ezekiel broke the silence. "Well, I guess," said he, "that will of her'n will stand, all right. Lindy's got enough of her own; she won't be likely to interfere; and I never he'rd of their havin' any other relatives." Then Uncle Ike spoke up. "I shall go to the funeral, of course, next Friday, and I shall expect to hear the Rev. Mr. Howe stand up in his pulpit and tell us what a good Christian woman Hepsy was; she was so kind and so be- nevolent, and so regardful of the feelings of others, and it wouldh't make a bit of difference if you went and told him what you've told' us, Alice; he'd say just the same thing." "Oh, hush! Uncle Ike,'' cried Alice, pleadingly; "she was a good woman, excepting on that one point, and you must own that she had some provocation. Let me ask you a question, Uncle Ike. How far should promises made to the dead be kept?'' "Just so far," replied Uncle Ike, "as they do not inter- fere with the just rights of the living. Where is that letter that she wanted you to destroy?" he asked. "Here it is," said Alice, and she took it from the bosom of her dress. "Well," said Uncle Ike, "if I were in your place I'd open that letter, read it, and if it was likely to be of any value to Miss Putnam in finding her parents or relatives, I'd hunt her up and give it to her. Mrs. Putnam owned up that she lied' about it, and the whole thing, any way, may be a blufif. Perhaps it's only blank paper, after all." "No," said Alice, "I could never open it or read it. I laid awake all night, thinking about my promise, and I finally made up my mind that I would go to see Lindy this morning, and let her read it ; but now she has gone away, 350 QTJINCY ADAMS SAWYER. and we do not know where to find her. What shall I do with this dreadful thing?" she cried, as she held the letter up in her hand. Quincy felt called' upon to speak. "Miss Pettengill," said he, "1 think I could find Miss Putnam for you." A slight flush arose to Alice's cheek which did not escape Quincy's notice. He continued; "When I went tO' Boston, last Saturday, I happened to meet her on the train. She told me then something of her story, and said she was going tO' leave the house forever, as soon as Mrs. Putnam died. She also told me that if I ever learned anything about her parents I could reach her by advertising in the Personal Column, of the New York 'Herald,' addressing 'Linda,' and signing it 'Eastborough.' " "And will you do this at once for me?'' cried Alice, eagerly. "I am so thankful; you have taken such a load from my mind, Mr. Sawyer. How fortunate it was that you met her as you did!" "I think Mr. Sawyer is about as lucky as they make 'em," remarked! Uncle Ike, with a laugh. "Kind fortune owes me one or two favors yet before I shall be entirely satisfied," said Quincy. "Now, Miss Pet- tengill, will you allow me to make a suggestion that will free you from' the further care of this document?" "I don't care what is d'one with it," said Alice; "but no one but Lindy must read it." "That is my idea exactly,'' assented Quincy. "I will go to Boston on the noon train and send that adlvertisement to the New York 'Herald.' With your permission, I will turn that document over to a legal friend of mine. He will put it in an envelope and seal it up. He will write on the outside, "To be delivered only to Miss Putnam, on the written order of Miss Alice Pettengill,' and it will repose quietly in his big safe until Miss Putnam is found." "That will do splendidly!" said Alice, with animation. AUNT ELLA. 351 "What magicians you lawyers are! You discover a way out of every difficulty." "Wait until you get one of those lawyers working against you," remarked Uncle Ike, "then you'll change your mind. Well, I s'pose now this matter's settled, I can go upstairs and have my morning smoke." "And I've got to go to the store," said Ezekiel to Uncle Ike, "and get some corn, or those chickens of your'n will swaller the hen coop." And both men left the room to- gether. "If you can give me a little of your time. Miss Petten- gill," said Quincy, "I have some news for you that I think will please you very much." "About my stories?" cried Alice. "Yes," replied Quincy. "Just before I went to Boston last Saturday I got a letter from Leopold, asking me to call on him as soon as convenient. I found him at home Sun- day evening, and this is what he said. The New York house has accepted your series of eight detective stories, and will pay you twenty-five dollars for each of them. The house will send you a check from time to time, as they pub- lish them. Leopold has accepted your long story for the magazine published! by the house for which he is reader. He says Jameson will get your other story into one of the Sunday papers, and he will have his dramatic version ready for production next fall. He can't tell how much you will make out of these just yet; the magazine pays by the page and the newspaper by the column, and, of course, Jame- son will give you part of his royalty, if he gets the play on." "Why, Mr. Sawyer, you are showering wealth upon m€ like another Count of Monte Cristo." "But you have not heard all," continued Quincy. "Leo- pold has placed your two songs with a music publishing house, and you will get a royalty on them in time. He says they don't pay any royalty on the first three hundred 352 QUIlSrCY ADAMS SAWTBE. copies, and perhaps they won't sell; the public taste on sheet music is very fickle. Then, that composer, I can never rememher his name, is at work on your poem, 'The Lord of the Sea.' He told Leopold he was going to make it his opus vitse, the work of his life, you know, and he is talking it up to the director of the Handel and Haydn Society." "How true it is," said Alice, "that gladness quickly fol- lows sadness ! I was so unhappy this morning, but now the world never looked so bright to me. You have brushed away all my sorrows, Mr. Sawyer, and I am really very happy to hear the good news that you have told me." "There is one sorrow that I have not yet relieved you of," continued Quincy. "And that?" asked Alice, brushing back the wavy golden hair from her forehead, and looking up at him with her bright blue eyes, which bore no outward sign of the dark cloud that dimmed their vision, — "and that is?" — she re- peated. "That letter," taking the hand that held it in both of his own. "If I am to get that noon train I have no time to lose." "Before you take it," said Alice, "you must promise me that it shall not be opened, and no eye but Lindy's must ever rest upon it." "You have my word," he replied. "Then take it," said she; and she released her holdl upon it. He took the letter with one hand, his other hand still retaining its grasp upon hers. "I go," said Quincy, assuming a bantering tone, "upon your quest, fair lady. If I return victorious, what shall be my reward?" "Gallant knights," said Alice, as she withdrew her hand from his, "do not bargain for their reward until they have fulfilled their trust." AUNT ELLA. 353 "I accept the reproof," said Quincy gravely. "It was not so intended. Sir Knig-ht," responded Alice brightly ; "so I will make amends by answering your query. If you return successful, tell me what you would prize the most, and even if it be half my kingdom, it shall be yours." "I am content, but modern locomotives do not wait even for gallant knights of old. So adieu." He quitted the room, and) Alice stood where he had left her until she heard the rumble of wheels as he drove off for the station ; then she found her way to her chair before the fire, and her mind wove the outline of a romantic story, in which there was a gallant knight and a lovely maiden. But in her story the prize that the knight asked when he re- turned successful from, his quest was the heart and hand of the lovely maiden. Jim Cobb went over to Eastborough Centre, so as to drive the team back. Before going to the station, Quincy stepped into the post office and found a letter addressed to him in a peculiar, but familiar, handwriting. "From Aunt Ella," he said. "I will read it after I get on the train." Quincy's Aunt Ella was Mrs. Robert Chessman, his mother's widowed sister. As soon as the train started Quincy opened his letter. It was short and to the point. " My Dear Quincy: — Maude gave me your address. What are you doing in a miserable, little country town in the winter? They are bad enough in the summer, but in March! — 'Bah! Come and see me at once, you naughty boy! Aunt Ella." "Dated yesterday," said Quincy; "how fortunate. I will go up to Mt. Vernon Street to-morrow noon and take lunch with her." When Quincy reached Boston he went directly to his 354 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. father's office. The Hon. Mr. Sawyer was not present, but his partners, Mr. Franklin Crowninshield and Mr. Ather- ton Lawrence, were busily engiag'ed. Quincy took a seat at the desk which he had occupied before going to Eastbor- ough, and wrote out his advertisement for the New York "Herald." It read as follows: "Linda. Important paper discovered; communicate at once with Q. A. S., Eastbor- oug-b." He enclosed' a check to cover a fortnight's insertion; then walked down State Street to the post office to mail his letter. When he returned, Mr. Lawrence informed him that his father was in his private office. His father greeted him pleasantly, but not effusively; in fact, any marked ex- hibition of approval or disapproval was foreign to the Saw- yer character, while the Quincys were equally notable for their reticence and imperturbability. "When shall we have the pleasure of your continued presence at hom'e?" asked the father. "To-night," replied Quincy, with a smile, "I shall be with you at dinner, stay all night, and take breakfast with you." "I trust your long visit will not oblige you to neglect other more important matters," said the father. "Oh, no!" answered Quincy. "I have looked out for that." "And when do you think your health will allow you to resume your position in the office?'' inquired the Hon. Nathaniel. "That is very uncertain," replied Quincy. "If you do not intend to come back at all," continued the father, "that would simplify matters. I could then make room for a Harvard graduate to study with us." Quincy reflected. He had been taught by his father not to give a positive answer to any question on the spur of the moment, if more time could be taken, as well as not, for consideration. So, after a few moments of thought, Quincy AUNT ELLA. S6S said, "I will write you- in the course of ten days or a fort- night, and give you a positive answer.'' "That will be entirely satisfactory," answered his father. "As you are going out, will you kindly tell Mr. Crownin- shield that I wish to consult with him?" Quincy knew that the interview had expired by limita- tion. He went home, but found that his mother and sisters were out riding. "They will return in time for dinner," said Delia, the parlor maid. Quincy went into the parlor and opened the grand piano. He sat down before it, touched a few of the keys casually, then sang, with great expression, the song by J. R. Thomas entitled "Pleasant Memories." He next wandered into the library, and took down and glanced at several books that he had devoured vdth avidity when a boy of sixteen. Then he went upstairs to his own room, which he had occupied since he was eight years old. It looked familiar, every- thing was in its accustomed place; still, the roonii did not look homelike. Strange as it may seem, Quincy had been happier in the large west chamber, with its old-fashioned bureau and carpet and bed, than he had ever been in this handsomely furnished apartment in the Beacon Street mansion. There was no wide fireplace here, with ruddy embers, into whose burning face he could look and weave fanciful dreams of the fortune and happiness to be his in the futui-e. He spent a pleasant evening with the family. His father was present, but passed the time in reading the newspapers and a legal brief that he wished to more closely examine. His mother was engrossed in a new novel, but no approving smile or sympathetic tear demonstrated any particular in- terest in the fates of the struggling hero or sufifering heroine. Florence sat at the piano, and, in response tb Quincy's request that she would give him some music, played over 356 QUIIiTCY ADAMS SAWYER. some chromatic scales and arpeggios. He declared that they reminded him of grand opera, which remark sent Maude into a fit of satirical laughter, and Florence up to her room in a pout. Then Maude fell to asking Quincy questions about him- self, to which he returned evasive and untruthful answers, until she was, as she said, completely disgusted. Then she dropped her head upon his shoulder, and with the arms of the brother whom she dearly loved clasped around her, she went to sleep. He looked at the sweet girlish face and thought, not of her, but of Alice. Next morning he was up early, for he knew that a busy day was before him. The last thing before retiring, and the first thing upon getting up, he examined his inside vest pocket, to see if that precious letter, that priceless trust that he had given his knightly word to deliver, was safe. _ He breakfasted early, and eight o'clock found him in Bowdoin Square, at the corner of Green and! Chardon Streets. His first visit was to a safe manufactory, a few doors from the corner, where he purchased one for the firm of Strout & Maxwell. After traversing both sides of Friend Street, he finally settled upon two horses, stout country roadsters, and left an order for their shipment to Eastborough Centre, when they were notified that the wagons were ready. He bought the wagons in Sudbury Street. They had red bodies and yellow wheels, and the words, "Strout & Maxwell, Mason's Comer, Mass.," were to be placed on them in gold letters. These tasks completed, Quincy walked up Tremont Row by Scollay's Building. Crossing Pemberton Square, he continued up Tremont Street until he came to the building in which was the law office of Curtis Carter, one of his law school chums. "Hello, Curt !" said he, as he entered the somewhat dingy office. "Well, 'pon honor, Quincy," cried Curtis, "the sight of AUKT ELLA. 357 you is g-ood' for sore eyes, and I've got such a beastly cold that I can't see with one eye and can't read with the other." "Well," said Quincy, "I came in here intending to con- sult you professionally, but I don't think a blind lawyer will answer my purpose." "Oh, I shall be all right in a few minutes," replied Cur- tis. "I dropped into Young's as I came up and took an eye-opener. What's the matter, old fellow, breach of promise?" Quincy took a seat near Curtis's desk. "No," said he, "it's a case of animosity carried beyond the grave.'' "Oh! I see," said Curtis, "party cut off with a shilling, going tO' try and break the will?" "Have a cigar?" asked Quincy. "While you are light- ing it and getting it under way I may slide in and get a chance to state my business." "Ohl you want to do the talking?" said Curtis good humoredly. "Well, go ahead, old man;" and he leaned back and smoked complacently. Quincy then related as much as he thought necessary of the story of the sealed letter, and as he concluded he took the package from his pocket and placed it on the corner of the lawyer's desk. "You are doing just right," said Curtis; "the probate judges nowadays are looking more carefully at wills, espec- ially when their provisions indicate that the signer was more red Indian than white Christian. I understand you perfectly,'' he continued; "what you wish me to do is to put this letter in an envelope, seal it securely, and endorse upon it these words, 'To be delivered only to Miss -Lindy Putnam upon the written order of Miss Alice Pettengill.' " "That's it exactly," said Quincy; "only I wish a receipt from you for the document." "Certainly," replied Curtis. As he raised the lid of his old-fashioned desk the letter fell to the floor. The envel- 358 QUINCy ADAMS SAWTER. Ope had received rough treatment in its progress from hand to hand, and it was not strange that when it struck the floor one corner was split open by the fall. As Quincy stooped to pick it up, he noticed that some- thing that resembled a small piece of white cloth dropped from the broken corner of the envelope. When he picked it up to replace it, he saw that it was a small piece of white cotton cloth, and his quick eye caught the name "Linda Fernborough" stamped thereon with indelible ink. He said nothing, but replacing the piece of cloth passed the package to Curtis, who enclosed, sealed, and endorsed it, and gave a receipt therefor to Quincy. "I will put this in my big steel vault," said he, as he went into another room. Quincy knew that Curtis would accept no fee for such a slight service, so placing a five dollar greenback under a paperweight, he quietly left the office and was out of sight long before Curtis, with the bill in his hand, ran down stairs, bareheaded, and looked up and' down the street in search of him. Five minutes later Quincy reached his aunt's house. A "Buttons," dressed in blue livery, opened the door, and Quincy was ushered into the long parlor, which ran the full depth of the house, some sixty feet, in which he had passed many pleasant evenings. He sent up his card, and in a few moments Buttons returned' and delivered the speech which Mrs. Chessman had taught him and which he had' learned by heart: "Mrs. Chessman desires that you will come up at once." Quincy bounded upstairs, to the evident astonishment of Buttons, and made his way to the front chamber, which he knew was his aunt's room. She loved the sunlight, and it was a constant visitor in that room, summer and winter. His aunt did not g^eet him' with a "how do you do?" and a hand>-s'hake. Instead of such a formal reception, she gave him a hearty hug and kissed him three times, once on the AUKT ELLA. 359 forehead, then on the cheek, and finally on the lips, in which latter osculation Quincy took part. His aunt led him to an easy-chair, then threw herself upon a lounge opposite to him. She eyed him attentively for a moment. "Quincy," said she, "you are better looking than ever; you're almost as good looking as Robert was, and he was the handsomest man I ever saw. How many different country girls have you kissed since you saw me last?" "I kept the count," said Quincy, "till I went to a sur- prise party a week ago Monday, and then I lost it." "Of all the kisses that you have had, whose do you prize the most?" "Those from my beloved Aunt Ella,'' replied Quincy. Aunt Ella smiled and said, "You know how to keep on the right side of an old woman who has got money." "1 didn't think of that until you called my attention to it," said Quincy gravely. "And I didn't believe it when I said it," added Aunt Ella. A few moments later she rang and ordered a light lunch. When this was over she went to an old secretary with brass handles, opened a drawer, and took out a cigar box. "I have a few ol Robert's cigars left," she said. Quincy took one and resumed his seat in the easy-chair. Aunt Ella opened another drawer in the secretary and took out a pouch of tobacco, a package of rice paper and a box of wax tapers. She put these articles on a small dia- mond-shaped table and placed the table between Quincy and herself. She handed Quincy the match-box, then deftly rolling a cigarette, she lighted it, leaned back upon the lounge and blew rings of smoke into the air, which she watched until tHey broke. "Do you think it's horribly unbecoming for me to smoke?" she asked, looking at Quincy. "Do you wish me to express my real thoughts?" replied Quincy, "or flatter you because you have money?" 360 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. Aunt Ella reddened a little, then said, "A good shot, Quincy, but I deserve it. Go on." "Well, Aunt Ella," said he, "you are the only woman whom I ever saw smoke who, in my opinion, knew how to do it gracefully." "I think you are sincere," she rejoined, "and I beg par- don for wounding your feelings as I did before. Give me your hand on it." , They shook hands as two men would have done after set- tling differences. Then she said, "Now draw your chair up closer, Quincy, and tell me what you've been doing, and what other people have been doing to you since the day before Christmas, the last time I set eyes on you until to-day. You know I am your mother confessor." Quincy complied, and in his quiet, concise way gave her a full account of his doings in Eastborough, omitting nothing, concealing nothing. If anything, he gave fuller details of his acquaintance with Huldy, Lindy, and Alice than he did of the other portions of his story. He could not forbear to give at full length the account of his final settlement with the Professor. Aunt Ella laughed heartily at some parts of the recital, and looked sorrowful and sympathetic when she listened to other portions. She rolled and smoked half a dozen cigar- ettes during its continuance, and when she saw that Quincy had finished his cigar she placed the remainder of the box before him. When he closed she said, "Quincy, you're a brick. I haven't enjoyed myself so much for years. I do so love anything that isn't commonplace, and your experience is both novel and interesting. What a dear old man Deacon Mason is, and Ezekiel Pettengill is a fine young fellow, hon- est and square. That Hiram and Mandy must be a team. Are they going to get married?" "I think so," said Quincy. "He stammers, you know, AT7NT ELLA, 361 and I think he is afraid he will break down when he tries to propose." Aunt Ella laughed heartily; then she said, "What a con- stitutional liar that Stiles must be, and as for the Professor, I would like to have a set-to with him myself." As she said this she doubled up her fists. "Oh, he wouldn't meet you that way," said Quincy. "He only fights with a woman's weapon, his tongue;" and he told her of his little boxing match with Robert Wood. Aunt Ella continued: "I can imagine what a pretty, sweet, little country girl Huldy Mason is. My heart aches for Lindy, her martyrdom has been out of all proportion to her contemplated wrongdoing, if wrongdoing it really was. Had I been in her place I would have married Jones and left my clothes behind; and then," said Aunt Ella, "how my heart goes out to that dear, sweet girl that you call Alice! Do you love her, Quincy?" "Devotedly," answered Quincy, "I never really loved a woman before." "Then marry her," cried Aunt Ella decidedly. '^'Everybody at home but Maude will object," said Quincy. "Maude's the best one in the family, next to yourself," snapped Aunt Ella. "They will bring up Uncle Jim," continued Quincy. "Nonsense!" replied Aunt Ella. "Uncle Jim was a fool ; any man is a fool who thinks he can win the battle of life by making a sot of himiself. Bring this girl to me, Quincy. She must be a genius, if she can write as you say she can. Let me care for her and love her and make life pleasant and beautiful for her until you get ready to do it yourself." "I will, some day, Aunt Ella. You are the best friend I have in the world, and when I have the right to bring Alice to you, I will lose no time in doing so. Thank you for your kind words about her. I shall never forget them. 802 QUINOY ADAMS SAWYER. and she shall hear them some diay. But I must go now." They both arose. "Promise that you will come and see me every time you are in Boston, Quincy; if you don't, I shall come down to Eastborough to see you." She gave him another kiss at parting. As he left the house he deliberated for a moment as to where he should go next. It was half-past four. He de- cided to go to Leopold's lodgings in Chestnut Street. He found him at home, but for a wonder he was not working. "This is an of? day with me," he explained; "this is our haying season, and I've been working nights, days, and Sundays for a fortnight." "I came to express Miss Pettengill's obligations and thanks for your kind and very successful efifoits in her be- half."^ "Oh! that's all right," said Leopold. "By the way, have you told her she ought to write a book?" ''Not yet," said Quincy; "but I'm going to soon. She has just lost a dear friend; but I won't forget it." "Don't!" repeated Leopold. "She is a diamond that ought to be dug up, cut, and set in eighteen carat gold. Excuse my apparently brutal language, but you get my meaning." "Certainly," said Quincy; "and you are not working to- day." "No," replied Leopold; "loafing and enjoying it, too. I've a good mind to turn vagrant and loaf on, loaf ever." "Come down to Parker's and have dinner with me." "Can't do it," replied Leopold; "my stomach is loafing, too. 'Twouldn't be fair to make it work and do nothing myself. Just as much obliged. Some other day. Don't forget the book," he cried, as Quincy left the room. Quincy took his dinner at Parker's, catight the five min- utes past six express, and reached Eastborough Centre at half-past seven. Abbott Smith drove him home to the Pettengill house. AUNT ELLA. 383 The next day was Friday. Everybody at Mason's Cor- ner, with quite a number from Eastborough and Montrose, came to Mrs. Putnam's funeral. The httle Square in front of the church, as well as the shed, was filled with teams. While waiting for the arrival of the body, quite a number of the male residents of Mason's Corner were gathered upon the steps of the church. Strout spied Abner Stiles and approached him. "Bob Wood has jest told me,'' said the Professor, "that he has de- cided not to leave his present place, so I've concluded on second thoughts to give yer that job at the grocery store." Abner's eyes twinkled. "I've had my second thoughts, too," said he, "I've hired out to Deacon Mason for life, and if I jine the church he says I can work for him in the next world. So I kinder guess I shall have to decline yer kind invitation to lift boxes and roll barrels." When the services were over every person in the church passed up the centre aisle to take a last view. Her hus- band had been buried in the Montrose cem^etery, and she had told Mr. Tilton that she was to be laid by his side. The Eastborough cemetery was in West Eastborough, and for that reason many of the late residents of Mason's Corner slept their last sleep at Montrose. As they stood by the coffin, Alice said, "How does she look?" "Very pleasant," replied Quincy; "there is a sweet smile upon her face." "I am so glad," said Alice. She pressed 'his arm a little tighter, and looking up to him, she said, "Perhaps she has met her boy, and that smile is but the earthly reflection of the heavenly one that rests upon her face in her home above." "I hope so," replied Quincy; and they walked slowly out of church and took their places on the rear seat of the Pet- tengill carryall, Ezekiel and Uncle Ike sitting in front. 364 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTER. Mandy Skinner and Mrs. Crowley had not gone to the funeral. The latter was busy skimming cream from a dozen large milk pans, while Mandy sat before the kitchen stove, with Swiss by her side. She was. thinking of Hiram, and wondering if he really intended tC' ask her to marry him. "I don't think he's been foolin' me, but now he's goin' into business I should think it was about time for him to speak up or quit.'' Swiss suddenly arose, snififed and went to the kitchen door. The door was opened softly and some one entered the room. Mandy did not turn her head. Perhaps she guessed who it was. Then some one placed a chair close to Mandy and took a seat beside her. "Say, M-m-m-m-m-a-andy," said Hiram, "will you please read this to me? It's an important docum'ent, and I want to be sure I've got it jest right." As he said this he passed 'Mandy a folded paper. She opened it and the following words met her eye: "This is to certify that I, Hiram Maxwell, of Mason's Cor- ner, in the town of Eastborough, county of Normouth, and Commonwealth of Massachusetts, hereby declare my in- tention to ask Miss Amanda Skinner of the village, town, county, and state aforesaid, to become my lawful wedded wife." "Oh, you big silly!" cried Mandy, dropping the paper, for she didn't think it necessary to read any further. "Is it all right?" cried Hiram, "it cost a quarter to git it drawn up. Then I swore to it ibefore old Squire Rundlett over to Montrose, and it ought ter hold water. You'd bet- ter keep it, Mandy, then I can't fling it up at yer that I never axed yer to marry me." "Who told you that?" asked the girl indignantly. '^TVTa Hawkins. Well, she didn't exactly say it to me, but she spoke it out so loud to Betsy Green that I heered it AUNT ELLA. 866 clear out in the wood-shed and I'll tell yer what, Mandy, it kinder made me mad." "Well, it's all right now,'' said Mandy soothingly. "Is it?" asked Hiram, his face beaming with delight. The next instant there was a succession of peculiar sounds heard in the room. As Swiss came back from the kitchen door but one chair was needed for the happy couple, and an onlooker would have thought that chair was occu- pied by one person with a very large head, having light curly hair on one side and straight dark hair on the other, no face being visible. It was upon this picture that Mrs. Crowley looked as she opened the door leading into the kitchen and started to come into the room with a large pan full of cream. Astonished, she stepped backward, forgetting the two steps that she had just ascended. Flat upon her back she fell, the pan of cream drenching her from head to foot. "It's drownd'ed I am! It's drownded I am!" she cried at the top of her voice. "What's the matter? How did it happen?" said Mandy, as she rushed into the room, followed by Swiss. "Shure it's thinkin' I was,'' moaned' Mrs. Crowley, "when the milk fell on me." "Thinkin' of what?'' cried Mandy sharply. "You couldn't have been thinkin' of your business." "Shure I was thinkin' of the day when Pat Crowley and I both sat in the same chair, forty years ago," said Mrs. Crowley, rising to her feet and wiping the cream from her eyes, and nose, and' ears. During this time Swiss was busily engaged having a rich feast upon the cream left in the pan. Hiram appeared at the kitchen door to learn the cause of Mandy's absence. Raising her hands high in the air, Mrs. Crowley said, "Bless you, my darlints ; may yer live long and may all the saints pour blessin's on yer bids." 396 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. And with this invocation the poor old woman hobbled off to her room in the ell and was not seen again until the next morning. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE WEDDIN'S. 'TpHE next day was Saturday. While the Pettengill I family was ait breakfast, Squire Rundlett arrived. He had driven over from Montrose with the partnership papers for Strout, Hiram, and Quincy to sign and also the will of the late Mrs. Hepsibeth Putnam. As he came into the kitchen he espied Mandy, and a broad smile spread over his face as he said, "Good morning, Miss Skinner, was that paper all right?'" Mandy flushed scarlet but said nothing. "Honestly, Miss Skinner," said the Squire, "I think it was a very sensible act on Hiram's part. If men were obliged to put their proposals in writ- ing there wouldn't be any more breach of promise cases." "I think he was a big goose," finally ejaculated Mandy, laughing in spite of herself. "At any rate," continued the Squire, "he knew how to pick out a smart, pretty little woman for a wife;'' and he raised his hat politely and passed into the dining-room. Here he was asked to have some breakfast. He accepted a cup of coiTee, and, while drinking it, informed Quincy and Alice of the twofold purpose of his visit. Quincy led Alice into the parlor, the Squire accompany- ing them. Quincy then retired, saying he would join the Squire in a short time and ride up to the store with him. When they were alone, the Squire informed Alice that by the terms of Mrs. Putnam's last will she had been left sole heiress of all the real and personal property of the de- ceased. The dwelling house and farm were worth fully ten thousand dollars, while the bonds, stocks, and other 368 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. securities, of which he had had charge for many years, were worth at least forty thousand more. For several years Mrs. Putnam's income had been about twenty-five hundred dollars a year. "It was very kind of her to leave it to me," said Alice; "I have never done anything to deserve it and I would not take it were it not that I understand there are no near rela- tives, and that Miss Lindy Putnam was amply provided for by her brother." There was a knock upon the door, and Quincy looked in. "Come in, Mr. Sawyer," said the Squire. "I have an important bit of news for you that concerns this young lady." Quincy did as requested and stood expectantly. The Squire went on: "Mrs. Putnam's old will, made some six years ago, gave all the property to Miss Petten- gill, but provided that its provisions should be kept secret for ninety days. In that will I was named as sole executor." "WHy did she change it?" asked Alice earnestly. "I don't know," replied the Squire. "About three weeks ago she sent for me and cut out the ninety-day restriction and named our young friend here as co-executor with myself." Alice remained! silent, while a look of astonishment crept into Quincy's face. "I do not quite comprehend her reason for making this change," remarked Quincy. "Mrs. Putnam was a very far-seeing lady," said the Squire, with a laugh, looking first at Alice and then at Quincy. A slight flush mounted' to Alice's cheeks, and Quincy said coolly, "I do not perceive the application of your re- mark." ^ "Easy enougli," said the Squire, seeing that he had put his foot in it, and that it was necessary to explain his false step in some way; "easy enough. I have had sole charge THE WEDDIN'S. 369 of her property for six years, and she wished some cool- headed business man to go over my accounts and see if I had been honest in my dealings with her." "That way of stating the case is satisfactory," said Quincy, a little more genially. "I don't think I am in danger of being robbed with two such, trusty guardians," said Alice. Then all three laughedl, and the little rift was closed. But the Squire's words had not been unheeded and two hearts were busily thinking and wondering if he had really meant what he said. The Squire then turned to Quincy. "If you will name a day we will go over to the county town, present the will for probate, and at any time thereafter my books will be ready for inspection." Quincy named the following Wednesday, and then both men congratulated Miss Pettengill on her good fortune, bade her good morning, and then started to go to the store. As they passed through the kitchen Mandy was not in sight. She evidently did not intend to have a second inter- view with the Squire. When they reached the store they found Strout and Hiram and Mr. Hill and his son already there. The bus- iness with Mr. Hill was soon concluded, and he delivered the keys of the property to Squire Rundlett; then the co- partnership papers were duly signed and witnessed, and then the Squire passed the keys to Mr. Obadiah Strout, the senior partner of the new firm of Strout & Maxwell, who formally took possession of the property in his own name and that of his partners. Since Abner's curt declination of a position in the store, Strout had been looking around for some one to take his place, and had finally settled upon William Ricker, or, as he was generally called, Billy Ricker, a popular young resident of Montrose, as it was thought he could control a great deal of trade in that town. 370 QUmCY ADAMS SAWrEE. For a similar reason, Quincy and Hiram had united in choosing young Abbott Smith, who was known by every- body in Eastborough Centre and West Ea&tborough. Abbott had grown tired of driving the hotel carriage and wished to engage in some permanent business. The choice was naturally not particularly palatable to Strout, but he had consented to let bygones be bygones and could ofifer no valid objection. These two young men were to report for duty that Saturday evening, and the close of that day's business terminated Benoni and Samuel Hill's connection with the grocery store. Sunday morning all of the Pettengill family went to church and listened to a sermon by Mr. Howe, the minister, from the text, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall inherit the kingdom of Heaven." As they were driving home, Uncle Ike remarked in his dry, sarcastic way, "I s'pose Mr. Howe was thinkin' of Mrs. Putnam when he was praisin' the peacemakers; it's a fash- ion in the country, I understand, the Sunday after a funeral to preach in a general way about the departed one." "Mrs. Putnam has been very kind to me," protested Alice, "and you should forgive her for my sake.'' "I'll forgive her," said Uncle Ike, "when the wrong she has done has been righted." He shut his teeth together sharply, faced the horses again, and lapsed into silence. In the afternoon Quincy joined Alice in the parlor, and they sang some sacred music together. Quincy picked up a book from the table and said, "Why, Miss Pettengill, by this turned down comer I imagine there are some thirty pages of this very interesting story, 'The Love of a Lifetime,' that I have not read to you. Would you like to have me finish it this afternoon?" "I have been afraid to hear the last chapter," said Alice. "I fear Herbert and Clarice will both die, and I so hate a book with a sad ending. Why don't authors keep their lovers alive — '' THB WBDDIN'S. g71 "Marry them off and let them live happily ever after- ward," Quincy concluded. "I don't think I could ever write a book with a sorrowful conclusion," mused Alice. Quincy saw the opportunity for which he had long waited. "Why dion't you write a book?" asked he earnestly. "My friend Leopold says you ought to; he further said that you were a genius, and if I remember him correctly, compared you to a diamond — " "In the rough," added Alice quickly. "That's it," said Quincy; "but Leopold addted that rougli diamonds should be dug up, cut, and set in a manner worthy of their value." "I am afraid Mr. Ernst greatly overrates my abilities and my worth," said she, a little constrainedly. "But how un- kind and! ungrateful I am to you and Mr. Ernst, who have been so kind and have done so much for me. I will prom- ise this much," she continued graciously. "I will think it over, and if my heart does not fail me, I will try." "I hope your conclusion will be favorable," remarked Quincy. "In a short time you will be financially indepen- dent and freed from any necessity of returning to your former vocation. I never knew of an author so completely successful at the start, and I think you have every encour- agement to make literature your 'love of a lifetime.' " "I will try to think so too," replied' Alice softly. Then he took up the book and finished reading it. When he had closed, neither he nor she were thinking of that future world in which Herbert and Qarice had sealed those vows which they had kept so steadfastly and truly during life, but of the present world, bright with promise for each of them, in which there was but one shade of sorrow — that filmy web that shut out the beauties of nature from the sight of that most beautiful of God's creations, a lovely woman. 372 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. Monday morning Quincy made another trip to Boston. He had obtained the measurements for a large sign, upon which, on a blue ground, the words "Strout & Maxwell" were to appear in large gold letters. He paid another visit to the carriage factory, and ordered two leather covered wagon tops, to be used in stormy weather, and picked out two sets of harness resplendent with brass buckles and bosses and having "S. & M." in brass letters on the blinders. He reached Aunt Ella's in time for lunch. He told her of the approaching wedding of Ezekiel and Huldy; then, leaning over, he whispered something in her ear, which made her face beam with delight. "What a joke it will be," cried she, "and how the coun- try folks will enjoy it. Can't I come d«Dwn to the wedding, Quincy, and bring my landau, my double span of cream- colored horses, and my driver and footman in the Chess- man livery? I'll take you and your lady love to the church." "Why, certainly," said Quincy. "I'll ask Miss Mason to send you an invitation." "Let me do something to help," begged the impetuous but good-hearted Aunt Ella. "Bring the girls up some morning early. We will go shopping, then we'll lunch here. We will have to go without our wine and cigars that day, you know, and then we'll go to the modiste's and the milliner's in the afternoon. We'll make a day of it, young man." Quincy leaned back in his easy-chair and blew a ring of blue smoke from one of Uncle Robert's cigars. "Excuse me. Aunt Ella," said he, "but do you ever in- tend to get married again?'' "Quincy Adams Sawyer!" cried Aunt Ella, with an as- tonished look on her face, "are you joking?" "Certainly not," replied Quincy. "My question was in- tended to be a serious and respectful inquiry. You are only forty, fine looking, well educated, well connected and wealthy. Why should you not?" THE WBDDIN'S. 373 "I will answer you seriously then, Quincy. I could not marry again. Ten years' life with Robert Chessman was • a greater pleasure than a lifetime with an ordinary man. I was twenty-five when I married him; we lived together ten years; he has been dead for five. How often I have wished that Robert had lived to enjoy his fortune with me. "But he was satisfied," she continued. " 'Better be a success at the end,' he used to say, 'than be a success in mid- dle life and fall from your greatness. Look at Wolsey, look at Richelieu, look at Napoleon Bonaparte.' He would often remark: 'E^rth has no sadder picture than a broken idol.' He used to consider Abraham Lincoln the most suc- cessful man that ever lived, for he died before making a mistake, and when he was strongest in the hearts of the people. "Your question reminds me,'' continued Aunt Ella, "of something I had in mind to say to you at some future day, but I may as well say it now. How much money have you, Quincy, and what is your income?" "Father gave me fifty thousand dollars outright when I was twenty-one; it pays on an average six per cent. Be- sides this he allows me two thousand a year for sup- posed professional services rendered in his law office." "That makes five thousand a year," said Aunt Ella quickly. "Well, I'll allow you five thousand more a year, and the day you are married I'll give you as much outright as your father did. That's unconditional. Now, condition- ally, if you bring your wife here and live with me you shall have rooms and board free, and I'll leave you every dollar I possess when I'm through with it. Don't argue with me now," she continued, as Quincy essayed to speak. "Think it over, tell her about it. You will do as you please, of course, but I shall not change my mind on this point." "Didn't your husband leave any relatives that might turn up and prevent any such disposition of your prop- erty?" 374 QUESrCT ADAMS SAWYER. "When we married, Robert said he was alone in the world," replied Aunt Ella; "he had no sisters, and only one brother, named Charles. Charles was an artist; he went to Paris to study about thirty-five years ago. From there he went to London. Some thirty years ago Robert got a letter from him in which he said he was going to return to America. Robert waited, but he did not come; then he wrote again to his English address, but the letter was re- turned with the words 'Gone to America' endorsed thereon." "Was he married?" inquired Quincy, "Robert never knew," said Aunt Ella, "but he imagined not, as Charlie, as he called him, never spoke in his letters of being in love, much less of being married." Quincy caught the three o'clock train to Eastborough Centre, and Ellis Smith, another son of 'Bias Smith, who had taken the hotel carriage in place of his brother Abbott, drove him home. A few diays thereafter invitations to the wedding of Ezekiel Pettengill and Hulda Ann Mason were sent broad- cast through Eastborough Centre, West Eastborough, Mason's Corner, and Montrose. Then it was decided by the gossips that Ezekiel was going to have Mr. Sawyer and Hiram Maxwell and Sam Hill to stand up with him, while Huldy Ann was going to have Alice Pettengill, Mandy Skinner, and Tilly James as bridesmaids. The whole town turned out when the two gaudy wagons, with their handsome horses and fine harness reached East- borough Centre, and a number of Centre folks followed the unique procession over to Mason's Corner. One of the wagons contained the new sign, which was soon put in place, and was a source of undisguised admiration for a long time. On tbe tenth of April, Strout & Maxwell's two heavy teams went over to Eastborough Centre and returned about noon heavily loaded, followed by three other teams from THE WEDDIN'S. 375 the Centre equally well filled. Then Mr. Obadiah Strout could contain himself rio longer. He let the cat out of the bag, and the news spread like wildfire over the village, and was soon carried to Eastborough Centre and to Montrose. The Mason's Corner church was to have a new organ, a present from Mr. Sawyer, and Professor Obadiah Strout had been engaged to officiate for one year. The nineteenth of April was fixed for Huldy's wedding day. The hour was ten in the morning. As early as eight o'clock teams began to arrive from north, east, south, and west. Enough invitations had been issued to fill the church, and by half-past nine every seat was taken. The little church was profusely decorated with vines, ferns and potted plants, while a wealth of cut flowers adorned the altar, the front of the new organ, which rose towering to the very top of the church, and the pews reserved for the bridal party.. Outside the edifice hundreds of sightseers, not honored with invitations, lined both sides of the spacious Square in front of the church, and occupied positions of vantage on the steps. It lacked but ten minutes of ten. The sexton rung a merry peal from the sweet-toned bell, which was the pride of the inhabitants of Mason's Corner. Within the church the ushers, having attended to the seating of the audience, stood just within the door awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom. They were in dress suits, with white gloves, and each had a white rose in his butonhole. Robert Wood and Cobb's twins had been assigned to the right of the centre aisle, while Abbott Smith, Benjamin Bates, and Emmanuel Howe had charge of the left side of the edifice. If any noticed the absence of Samuel Hill and Hiram Max- well, it did not provoke general remark, although Mrs. Hawkins asked Jonas if he'd seen Mandy anywhere, and Tilly James's school chum, Eliza Allen, managed to occupy two seats, so as to have one for Tilly when she came. 376 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. At exactly five minutes of ten, Professor Strout emerged from the rear of the platform, and proceeded towards the new organ. He, like the ushers, was in a dress suit, with a white rose in th« lapel of his coat. He was greeted with applause and bowed his acknowledgements. He took his seat at the organ and played a soft prelude, during which the Rev. Caleb Howe entered and advanced to the altar. Then loud cheers were heard from the assembled crowd outside. The organ stopped and the sexton again filled the air with merry peals. The sight outside was one which those inside could not see, and therefore could not appre- ciate. What was that coming up the road? Mason's Cor- ner had never seen an equipage Hke that before. An open carriage, drawn by four cream-colored horses, with white manes and tails and silver-tipped harness. A coachman in livery sat upon the box, while a footman, in similar livery, rode behind. Following behind this were other car- riages, containing the other members of the bridal party. Within the church every eye was turned upon the door through which the party was to come. Professor Strout's sharp eye saw the first couple as they reached the entrance, and the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, that have preceded so many happy bridals, sounded through the church. The party included Ezekiel and Huldy, Dea- con Mason and wife, Mr. Sawyer and Miss Alice Pet- tengill, and a handsome, richly dressed lady unknown to any of the villagers, who was escorted by Mr. Isaac Petten- gill. Ezekiel and Huldy advanced and took their positions before the minister, while the remainder of the party took seats in one of the bridal pews. When the ceremony was over the audience naturally expected that the wedded couple would leave the church by the right-hand aisle, on both sides of which, from end to end, white silk ribbons had been drawn to keep the pas- .sage clear. THE WEDDIN'S. 377 But no! Shouts and cheers were again heard from outside the church, again the church bell rang out, and once more the melody of the Wedding March fell upon the ears of the Professor's auditors, while to their astonish- ment Ezekiel and his wife seated themselves quietly in the front bridal pew. Again every eye was turned, every neck was craned, and Samuel Hill and Tilly James walked down the centre aisle and took their places before the clergyman. Again the solemn words were spoken, and this time the spectators felt sure that the double couple would leave the church by the silken pathway. But no; again were cheers and shouts from the outside borne to the excited spectators within. Once more the sexton sent out pleasing tones from the church bell; once more the Professor evoked those melodious strains from the sweet-toned organ; and as Samuel Hill and his wife too'k their seats in the front pew beside Mr. and Mrs. Eze- kiel Pettengill, the excitement of the audience could no longer be controlled. It overcame all restraint, and as Hiram Maxwell and Mandy Skinner entered, the people arose to their feet and cheered loudly, as they would have done at a political meeting or a circus. Again, and for the last time, the Rev. Mr. Howe went through the time-honored ceremony, and at its close Mr. and Mrs. Ezekiel Pettengill, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Hill, and Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Maxwell left the church by way of the right-hand aisle, preceded by the ushers, who strewed the aisle with white roses as they advanced, and were fol- lowed by the occupants of the second bridal pew. As Quincy rode over to Eastborough Centre with his Aunt Ella, after partaking of the wedding breakfast, which was served in Deacon Mason's dining-room, she remarked to him that the events of the day had been most enjoyable, and that she didn't know, after all, but that she should change her mind about getting married again. When asked by Quincy if she had seen any one whom 878 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER, she thought would suit her for a second husband, she re- plied that "Mr. Isaac Pettengill was a very well-preserved old gentleman, and the most original man in thought and speech that she had met since Robert dSed." Quincy did not inform her that Uncle Ike had -a wife and two grown-up daughters living, thinking it best to re- serve that information for a future occasion. That night Strout & Maxwell's grocery store was the centre of attraction. Strout was in his glory, and was, of course, in his own opinion, the most successful feature of that eventful day. It was a very common thing to get married, but it was a most uncommon thing to play on a new church organ, and play as well as he had done, "for the first time, too," as he remarked a score of times. Stepping upon a barrel, the Professor called out in a loud voice, "Order, please," and in a short time ,the assem- bled crowd became quiet. "Friends and Feller Citizens: I have this day received my commission as postmaster at Mason's Corner, Mass. Mail matter will be sorted with celerity and delivered only to the proper parties, while the firm of Strout & Maxwell vnll always keep on hand a full assortment of the best family groceries at reasonable prices. Soliciting your con- tinued patronage, I remain, yours respectively. Obadiah Strout, Postmaster. As the Professor stepped down from the barrel, Abner Stiles caught him' by the arm and said in a low voice, "Isn't Deacon Mason one of your bondsmen?" "Yes," said Strout, somewhat pompously, "but what of it?" "Why, yer see," said Abner, "I'm workin' for the Dea- con now, and I'm just as devoted to his interests as I used to be to yourn onct, and with a much better hope of reward, both on this earth and in Heaven, and if he's got money THE WEDDIN'S. 379 put up on yer, of course yer won't object if I drop in onct in a while and kinder keep an eye on yer." And with this parting shot he dashed out a side door and was lost to sight. CHAPTER XXXIV. BLENNERHASSETT, WHEN comparatively great events follow each other in quick succession, those of minor importance are liable to escape mention. It was for this reason, probably, that the second visit of Dr. Tillotson was. not spoken of at the time of its occurrence. He examined Alice's eyes and declared that progress towards recovery was being made, slowly but surely. He left a bottle of new medicine, and advised Alice, as an aid to recovery, to take a long walk, or a ride, each pleasant day. This advice he repeated to Uncle Ike, who was waiting for him outside the front door, and to Quincy, who brought him fronj the station and took him back. On the day fixed upon, Quincy drove over to Montrose, and accompanied by Squire Rundlett, went to the county town and presented Mrs. Putnam's will for probate. In dHie time the will was admitted, the executors' bonds were filed and approved, and Quincy, at the age of twenty-three, found himself one of the financial guardians of the young heiress, Mary Alice Pettengill, she being his junior by less than two years. About ten days after Quincy's interview with his Aunt Ella, in which she had signified her intention of making him an allowance, he received a letter from a Boston bank- ing firm, informing him that by direction of Mrs. Ella Chessman, the sum of five thousand dollars had been placed to his credit, and that a similar sum would be so placed on the first business day of January in each succeeding year. A blank card was enclosed for a copy of his signa- BLENNERHASSETT. 381 ture, and the statement made that his drafts would be duly honored. When Quincy and his aunt reached Easlborough Cen- tre, after the trio of weddings, they found that they had a full hour to wait before the arrival of the next ingoing train. This gave plenty of time for the reloading of the horses and carriage on the special car in which they had been brought from Boston and which had been side-tracked. Quincy wished to accompany his aunt to Boston and escort her to her home, but she demurred. He insisted, but his aunt replied, "Don't go, please don't, Quincy; they will take me for your mother, and I really am not quite old enough for that." This argument was unanswerable, and Quincy bade her a laughing good-by as the train sped on towards Boston, the special car in charge of the coachman and footman bringing up the rear. Thus Aunt Ella's visit to Mason's Corner became an event of the past, but the memory of it remained green for a long time in the minds of those who had witnessed her arrival and departure. Ellis Smith drove Quincy home to the Pettengill house. It was to be hom^e no longer, for Hiram and Mandy were to have the room that Quincy had occupied so long. His trunk and other belongings he had packed up the night before, and at Quincy's request, Cobb's twins had taken them out to Jacob's Parlor, where he found them. He knew that Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins were to spend the after- noon with their daughter and son-in-law. , Quincy also knew that Uncle Ike and Alice were at Deacon Mason's, where Ezekiel and Huldy were to remain for the coming week. For the first time since he had been at Mason's Corner, Quincy felt lonesome and deserted. He reflected on his way to Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house that these weddings 882 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEE. were all very nice, to be sure, but they had deprived him of the society of many good friends, who were now united by stronger ties than those of simple, everyday friendship. He did not care to go to the grocery store, for he felt that the Professor was entitled to all the credit that he was likely tO' get for his day's performance, and he did not wish to detract from it. So he went directly to his room, and for the first time felt out of sorts with Eastborough and its people. He was not hungry for food, so he did not answer the call to supper, but sat in the dark and thought. He real- ized that he was hungry, yes, desperately hungry, for love — ^the love of one woman, Alice Pettengill. Why should he wait longer? Even if his father and mother objected his Aunt Ella was on his side, and her action had made him independent. He had felt himself so before, but now there was no doubt of it. This determined young man then made up his mind he would declare his love at the first auspicious moment. Then he would go to his parents and learn their verdict on his proposed action. Thinking thus he went to bed, and in his dreams, ushers, and bridesmaids, and cut flowers, and potted plants, and miles of silken ribbon, and cream- colored horses, and carriages, and clergymen, and organ- ists, and big pipe organs were revolving about him and Alice, as the planets revolve about the sun. Once more Quincy's breakfast was on the stove being kept warm, and once more Mrs. Hawkins was waiting im- patiently for himi to come down. Betsy Green and she were was'hing the breakfast dishes. How happy Eve must have been in Eden, where there was no china, no knives and forks, and' no pots and kettles, and what an endless burden of commonplace drudgery she en- tailed upon her fair sisters when she fell from her high estate. Man's labor is uniformly productive, but woman's, alas! is still almost as uniformly simply preservative. BLENNEEHASSETT. 383 "Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Hawkins to Betsy Green, "is no doubt a very nice young man, but I shouldn't want him for a steady boarder, 'less he got up on time and eat his meals reg'lar." "I s'pose he's all tired out," remarked Betsy. "He had a pretty hard day of it yesterday, you know, Mis' Haw- kins." "Wall, I s'pose I ought to be kinder easy on him on that accotint. I must say he managed things fust rate." "How did the brides look?" asked Betsy. Poor girl, she was one of the few who were not able to view the grand sight. "I can think of no word to express my feelin's," replied MIrs. Hawkins after a pause, "but splendiferous! Huldy's dress was a white satin that would a stood alone. She had a overskirt of netted white silk cord, heavy enough to use for a hammock. You know she's neither light nor dark, kind of a between, but she looked mighty poorty all the same." "Was Tilly James dressed in white, too?" inquired Betsy. "No," answered Mrs. Hawkins. "She wore a very light pink silk, with a lace overskirt, and it just matched her black eyes and black hair fine, I can tell yen" "Mandy must have looked pretty, with her light curly hair and blue eyes, and those rosy cheeks." "Well," said Mrs. Hawkins reflectively, "I'm her mother, and a course I'm prejoodished, but I honestly think she was the best lookin' one of the three. Of course Hiram is no beauty, and I'lm all out of patience when he tries to talk to me. But I know he'll make Mandy a good hus- band, and that's a tarnal sight better'n good looks." "What color was Mandy's dress?" persisted Betsy. "Lord a massy," cried Mrs. Hawkins, "I e'en a'most for- got to tell yer. Her dress was a very light blue silk, with a lace overskirt, 'bout the same as Tilly's. Mr. Sawyer gave her two hundred dollars to buy her things with, 'cause 384 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEK. she's been so nice to him since he boarded at Pettengill's." "Who was that styHsh lookin' lady that came in a car- riage with the four beautiful horses? I saw her outer the attic winder." "She was a Mrs. Chessman," replied Mrs. Hawkins. I heern tell she's a widder'd aunt of Mr. Sawyer's, and she's as rich as Creazers." "How rich is that?" inquired Betsey, with an astonished look. "Creazers," replied Mrs. Hawkins, with an expression that savored of erudition, "was a man who was so all fired rich that he had to hire folks to spend his money for him." At that moment a step was heard in the dining-room, and both Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy flew to wait upon the new-comer who proved to be Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer. As he took his seat at the table the Connecticut clock on the mantelpiece struck ten. At eleven o'clock that same morning Mr. Sawyer knocked at the front door of Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill's resi- dence. How strange it seemed, how much more home- like it would have been to have entered by the back door and to have come through the kitchen and dining-room, as of old. But no! He was not a regular boarder now, only an occasional visitor. The door was opened by young Mrs. Maxwell, and her usually rosy cheeks were ruddier than ever when she saw who the caller was. "Is Miss Pettengill in?" Quincy politely inquired. "She's in the parlor, sir; won't you walk in?" And she threw open the door of the room in which Alice sat by the fire. "Do 1 disturb your dtreams. Miss Pettengill?" asked Quincy, as he reached her side. "I'm so glad you have come, Mr. Sawyer," said Alice, extending her hand. "I never was so lonesome in my lite as I have been this morning. The house seems deserted. BLENNEBHASSETT, 385 Uncle Ike ate too many good things yesterday, and says he is enjoying an attack of indigestion to-day. I had Swiss in here to keep me company, but he wouldn't stay and Mandy had to let him out." "He came up to Mrs. Hawkins's," said Quincy, as he took his accustomed seat opposite Alice. "He walked down with me, but when he saw me safe on the front door- step he disappeared around the comer." "I didn't tell him to go after you," said Alice, laughing; "but I am very glad that you have come. I have a very important matter to consult you about. You know you are my business man now." Tm always at your service," replied Quincy. "I think I know what you wish to see me about." "And what do you think it is?" asked Alice, shaking her head negatively. "Well," said Quincy, "I saw Squire Rundlett the day before the weddings and he thought that you -might pos- sibly want some money. He had a thousand dollars in casfi belonging to you, and I brought you half of it. If you will kindly sign this receipt," he continued, as he took a small parcel from his pocket, "you will relieve me of further responsibility for its safe keeping." He moved the little writing table close to her chair, and dipping the pen in the ink he handed it to her, and indi- cated with his finger the place where she should sign. She wrote as well as ever, though she could see nothing that she penned. "There are eight fifty-dollar bills, eight tens and four fives," he said, as 'he passed her the money. "Which are the fifties?" she asked, as she handled the money nervously with her fingers. "Here they are," said Quincy, and he separated them from the rest of the bills and placed them in her hands. "Oh! thank you," said she. She counted out four of the bills and passed them to Quincy. "That settles my money 386 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. debt to you, does it not?" she inquired; "but nothing can pay the debt of gratitude that I owe you for your many acts of kindness to me, Mr. Sawyer.'' "I am fully repaid by that very kind speech of yours," replied! Quincy. "But what was the important matter you wished to see me about? I don't think it was the money." "It was not," said Alice. "I have little use for money just at present. I never had so much, before at once in all my life. I shall have to learn to be an heiress." "It's a lesson that is very easily learned," replied Quincy. "What I wish to speak about," continued! Alice, musing- ly, "is Mrs. Putnam's house. I could never live in it. I could never gO' into that room again ;" and she shuddered. "You can sell it," interposed Quincy. "No," said Alice earnestly, "I am going to give it away. Father just made a living here, and Ezekiel can do no bet- ter, but with the Putnam farm, properly stocked, he can in time become a rich man, for he is a good farmer, and be loves his work. I wish," continued Alice, "to give 'Zekiel and Huldy the farm outright, then I would like tO' loan him enough money to buy live stock and machinery and what- ever else he may need, so that he may begin his new life under the most favorable auspices." "I think your proposed action a most commendable one," remarked Quincy. "I am sure you need anticipate no objections on the part of Squire Rundlett or myself. Our duties are limited to seeing that all the property that was willed to you is properly delivered. It gives us no right to interfere with your wishes or to question your mo- tives. I will see Squire Rundlett at an early day and have the matter put into shape. Does Ezekiel know of this?" "Not a word," said Alice; "I do not wish to speak to him about it until the matter is all settled and the papers are signed. He iis high spirited, and at the first mention I know he would refuse my ofifer, especially if he thought 'twas only known to us two. But when he learns that the deed is BLENNERHASSETT. 387 done, and that the Squire and yourself are knowing to it, he will be more tractable.'' "Speaking of the Putnam house, or more properly, I suppose, Pettengill house number two — " "This will always be number one," interposed Alice. " — reminds me," said Quincy, that my efforts to discover Lindy's whereabouts have so far proved unavailing. The advertisement that I put in for a month has run out and I have received no word." "Do you think she went to New York, as she promised?" inquired Alice. "I do not," replied Quincy. "I think she always had an idea that Mrs. Putnam had some letter or document in her possession relating to her parents. I think the poor girl lost hope when she learned that it was destroyed, and I imagine that she has intentionally hidden herself andi does not wish to be found. I might, after long search, discover her bankers, but she has probably notified them to keep her address a secret. I do not like to confess," he continued, "to so abject a failure, but I really do not know what to do next." "We must wait and hope," said Alice. Then looking up at Quincy with an arch smile upon her face, she added, "I will extend your time. Sir Knight. Your gallant efforts have so far been unsuccessful, but I shall pray that you may some day return victorious." Quincy replied in the same tone of banter: "Knowing that you, fair lady, are ever thinking of me, and that my name is ever upon your fair lips in prayer, will spur me to renewed effort, for surely no cavalier ever had a more lovely mistress or a greater incentive to knightly action." Although he spoke in a chafifing tone, there was an under- current of seriousness in his manner and pathos in his voice that made Alice start and flush visibly. Fearing that he had gone too far he quickly changed the 888 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. subject by asking abruptly, "Have you come to any decision about your book?" "Yes," replied Alice, "and I am ashamed to say that your friend's suggestion and your warm endorsement of it have so increased my egotism and enlarged my apprecia- tion of my own abilities that I am tempted to try it, espe- cially now, as you inform me I am independent and can do as I please." "Have you progressed so far as to fix upon a subject?" inquired Quincy. "Yes, provisionally,'' replied Alice. "I have always been a great admirer of history, and particularly that of my own country. For the period from 1776, no, from 1607, to the present time I have become conversant with the thoughts and acts of our patriots and public men. One character has always been a mystery to me, and I wish to learn all I can about him." "And he?" questioned Quincy. "Is Aaron Burr," said Alice. "How I wish I could learn the truth about the loss of his daughter Theodosia; then the real reasons for his duel with Alexander Hamilton are not fully understood at the present day. Then again, J. should enjoy writing about that fine old Irish gentleman and lover of science, Harman Blennerhassett, and his lovely wife, Margaret." "Have you decided upon the title?" still further ques- tioned Quincy. "I have thought of two," she replied, " 'Theodosia,' and 'Blennerhassett,' but I strongly incline to the latter." "So do I," said Quincy, "but you will have to do much more reading, nO' doubt, before you commence writing. Historical novels are usually savagely attacked by the critics, presumably very often from political motives, and you would have to be very strong in your authorities." "That is what troubles me," said Alice; "if I only could read — " BLENNERHASSETT. 389 "But Others can read to you and make such notes as you desire," remarked Quincy, "I should like nothing better than to help you in such a work, but I have been away from home so long that I feel it imperative to resume my busi- ness duties at an early day." "I think you ought," said Alice. "I could not presume to trespass upon your kindness and good nature to such an extent. The idea of writing this book has grown very pleasing to me, but I can wait until — " She stopped speak- ing and placed both of her hands over her eyes. "I can wait," she repeated, "until my eyes are better." 'Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Miss Petten- gill?" Alice smiled and nodded. "You are my literary as well as my financial 'adviser," said she. "It will no doubt appear quite an undertaking to you," continued Quincy, "but I shall be very glad to help you. My plan is to secure a lady who reads well and can write a good hand to assist you. Besides this, she ^must understand correcting proof sheets. I think Leopold could easily find such a person for you. Then, again, you know what Dr. Tillotson said afcout your taking exercise and fresh air. The second feature of my plan, and the most important in my mind, is to find some quiet place in the country, or at the beach, where you and your amanuensis can both work and play. I can buy for you such books as you need, and you can finish the work this summer." Alice reflected. After a few moments' pause she said, "I like the plan and I thank you very much for speaking of it; but I prefer the beach. I love the plash and roar and Jbooiri) of the water, and it will be a constant inspiration to me. How soon can I go?" she asked, with a look upon her face that a young child might have had in speaking to its father. This was Alice Pettengill's great charm. She was hon- est and disingenuous, and was always ready to think that 390 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. what Others deemed it best for her to do was really so. Imi- tation may be the sincerest flattery, but appreciation of the advice and counsel of others, combined with gratitude for the friendly spirit that prompts it, makes and hold's more friend's. Quincy looked at his watch. "I can get the afternoon train, I think," said he. "I will see Leopold, and then run^ up and make Aunt Ella a call. She knows the New England coast from Eastport to New- port. Did she speak to you at the wedding?" "Some lady with a very pleasant voice asked me if I were Miss Pettengill, while we were in the church," re- plied Alice. "I said yes, and then she told me that her name was Chessman, adding the information that she was your aunt, and that you could tell me all about her." "I shall be happy to," said Quincy; "but I can assure you it would be much more enjoyable for you to hear it from herself. I hope you will have that pleasure some day." And again adopting a bantering tone, "I trust, fair lady, I shall not return this time from a bootless errand." Alice listened again, as she had often done, until she heard the sound of departing wheels, and then she fell to wondering whether her future paths in Hfe would continue to be marked out by this Sir Knight, who was ever at her beck and call, and whether it was her destiny to always tread the paths that he laid out for her. Quincy was fortunate in finding Leopold' at home. "I'm glad you've come, Quincy," said he". "I was going to write you to-night." ^What's up?'' inquired Quincy. "Please pass me that package of papers on the corner of the table," answered Leopold, being loath to rise from^ his recumbent position on the lounge. Quincy did as requested and took a seat beside Leopold. "These," said Leopold, "are the proofs of the first writ- ings of a to-be-famous American author. Glad she took a BLENNERHASSETT. 391 man's name, so I don't have to say authoress. Here," he continued, "are the proofs of the story, Was it Signed? Cooper wishes it read and returned immediately. Editors wish everything done immediately. They loaf on their end and expect the poor author to sit up all night and make up for their shortcomings. I'm a sort of editor myself, and I know what I'm talking about. This lot," he continued, 'Vill appear in 'The Sunday Universe' a week from next Sunday. I had a copy made for Jameson to work from. Bruce Douglas owes me four-fifty for expenses, necessary but not authorized." "I will see that you are reimbursed," said Quincy ; "want it now?" and he made a motion to take out his pocketbbok. "No," replied Leopold, "I'm' flush to-day; keep it till some time when I'm strapped. Last, and most important of all, here are the proofs of the story that is to appear in our monthly. Now, my advice to you is, Quincy, seek the fair author at once, correct these proofs and have them back to me within three days, or they'll go over and she'll be charged for keeping the type standing, besides having her pay hung up for another week." "She won't mind that," said Quincy, with a laugh. "She's an heiress now, with real and personal property valued at fifty thousand dollars. But what am I to do?" asked he seriously. "I could read the manuscript, but we have no one at Eastborbugh who knows how to make those pot- hooks and scratches that you call 'corrections.' " "Well, you two young aspirants for literary fame are in a box, are'nt you? I was thinking about that fifty thou- sand. Perhaps I'd better go home with you and get ac- quainted with the author," said Leopold with a laugh. "Well," returned Quincy, "it would be very kind of you in our present emergency, but, strange as it may seem, I came to see you this afternoon about securing a literary as- sistant for Miss Petteng^ll. She has decided to write that book." 392 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. "Good girl!'' cried Leopold, sitting bolt upright upon the lounge. "I mean, good boy, for it was, no doubt, your ac- knowledged powers of argument andl gently persuasive ways that have secured this consummation of my desire. Let me think;'' and he scratched his head vigorously. "I think I have it," said he, finally. "One of our girls down to the ofifice worked so hard during our late splurge that the doctor told' her she must rest this week. She rooms over on Myrtle Street. I happened to be late in getting out one day last week, and we walked together up as far as Chestnut Street. She lives nearly down to the end of Myrtle Street." "No further explanation or extenuation is necessary," said Quincy. "Is she pretty?" "You're right, she is," replied Leopold. "She's both pretty and smart. She has a beautiful voice and writes a hand! that looks like copperplate. She's a first-class proof reader and a perfect walking dictionary on spelling, defini- tions, and dates. They treat her mighty shabby on pay, though. She's a woman, so they gave her six dollars a week. If she were a man they'd give her twenty, and think themselves lucky. I'll run over and see if she is at home. At what time could she go down with you to-morrow?" he asked. "I'll come after her at nine o'clock. Tell her Miss Pet- tengill will give her eight dollars a week, with board and lodging free." "All right," cried Leopold, "that's business. While I'm gone just see how pretty those stories look in cold type. I've been all through them myself just for practice." Leopold dashed out of the room and Quincy took up the proofs of the story, Was It Signed? He became so ab- sorbed in its perusal that Leopold pulled it out of his hand in order to attract his attention. "It's all right," he said. "She's delighted at the idea of going. She thinks the change will do her good. She can't BLENNEKHASSETT. 393 build up very fast in a little back room, up three flights." "What's her name?" asked Quincy. "Oh! I forgot," replied Leopold. "I'll write her name and address down for you. There it is," said he, as he passed it to Quincy. "Her first name is Rosa, and that's all right. She's of French^Canadian descent, and her last name is one of those jawbreakers that no American can pronounce. It sounded something like Avery, so she called herself at first Rosa Avery; then the two A's caused trou- ble, for everybody thought she said Rose Avery. Being a proof reader," continued Leopold, "she is very sensitive, so while the name Rosa satisfied her inmost soul, the name Rose jarred upon her sensibilities. Thus another change became necessary, and she is now known, and probably will continue to be known, as Miss Rosa Very, until she makes up her mind to change it again." "I'm greatly obliged, Leopold," said Quincy, making the proofs into a flat parcel and putting them into his inside overcoat pocket. "Don't mention it, old fellow," remarked! Leopold. "You may be the means of supplying me with an assistant some day. If you should, don't fail to call my attention to it." Aunt Ella was at dinner when Quincy arrived. She sent word up by Buttons for Quincy to come down to the dining-room at once. She was alone in the room when he entered. "Just in time," said he, "and I'm hungry as a bear." "That's a good boy ; sit down and help me out," said his aunt. "These extravagant servants of mine cook ten times as much as I can possibly eat." "I don't imagine it is wasted," replied Quincy. "I think not," said Aunt Ella, with a laugh; "for, judg- ing from the extra plentiful supply, they probably have a kitchen party in view for this evening. But what keeps you away from East borough over night?" 394 QUIKCT ADAMS SAWYEK. "I thought you couldn't eat and talk at the same time," remarked Quincy. "I can't," she replied. "I'm through eating and I'm go- ing to sit and listen to you. Go right ahead, the servants won't come in. I won't let them stand and look at mc when I'm eating. If I want them I ring for them." Quincy then briefly related the principal events that had taken place at Mason's Corner since the nineteenth, re- marking, incidentally, that he had received no word from Lindy. "Let her alone, and she'll come home when she gets ready," said Aunt Ella. "As to the best place for your young lady to go, I shall have to think a minute. Old Orchard is my favorite, but I'm afraid it would be too noisy for her there, the hotels are so close to the railroad track. I suppose your family, meaning your mother's, of course, will go to Nahant, as usual. Sarah would have society convul- sions at Old Orchard. I should like to see her promenad- ing down in front of the candy stores, shooting for cigars in the shooting gallery, or taking a ride down to Saco Pool on the narrow-gauge; excuse me for speaking so of your mother, Quincy, but I have been acquainted with her much longer than you have." She went on, "Newport is too sty- lish for comfort. Ah! I have it, Quincy. I was there three years ago, and I know what I'm talking about. Quai^it place, — funny looking houses, with little promenades on top, — crooked streets that lead everywhere and nowhere, —very much like Boston,— full of curiosities,— hardy old mariners and peaceable old Quakers,— plenty of nice milk and eggs and fresh fish, — more fish than anything else,— every breeze is a sea breeze, and it is so dtelightfully quiet that the flies and mosquitoes imitate the inhabitants, and sleep all day and all night." "Where is this modern Eden, this corner lot in Para- dise?" asked Quincy; "it can't be part of the United States." "Not exactly," replied Aunt Ella; it's ofif shore, I forget BLENNEKHASSETl'. 395 how many miles, but you can findl it swimming around in the water just south of Cape Cod." "Oh! you mean Nantucket," cried Quincy. 'That's the place," assented his aunt. "Now, Quincy, I'll tell you just what I want you to do, and I want you to promise to do it before I say another word." "That's a woman's way," remarked Quincy, "of avoid- ing argument and preventing a free expression of opinion by interested parties; but I'll consent, only be merciful." "What I'm going to ask you to db, Quincy Sawyer, is for your good, and you'll own up that I've been more than a mother to. you before I get through." "You always have been," said Quincy, seriously. "Of course, I love my mother in a way, but I'm never exactly comfortable when I'm with her. But when I'm with you, Aunt Ella, I'm always contented and feel perfectly at home." "Bless you, my dear boy," she said. Then, rising, she went behind his chair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead; then, pulling a chair close to him, she went on: "I haven't spoken to you of her, Quincy, because I have had no opportunity until now. I've fallen in love with her myself. I am a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist. Robert taught me the principles. She's almost divinely lovely. I say almost, for, of course, she'll be still lovelier when she goes to Heaven. Her well-shaped head indicates a strong, active, inventive mind, while her pure heart and clean soul are mirrored in her sweet face. She is a good foil for you, Quincy. You are almost dark enough for a Spaniard or an Italian, while she is Goethe's ideal Mar- guerite." It was not necessary for Quincy to ask to whom she re- ferred, nor to praise her powers of discernment. It was Aunt Ella's time for talking, and she was not inclined to brook any interference. So she went on. "I want you to bring her here to me and have Rosai 396 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. What-d'yer-call-her come with her. Here they can work and play until you get the nest ready for her down to Nan- tucket. You say she plays and sings. I love music passion- ately, but I can't play a note, even on a jew's-harp; but if she plays a wrong note I shall feel inclined to call her atten- tion to it. When I used to go to the theatre with Robert, I delighted in telling him how badly some of the members of the orchestra were playing, but I repented of it. He got in the habit of going out between the acts to escape the music, he said, and I never could keep him in his seat after that." Quincy laughed heartily at this. "I see no way of stop- ping this bad habit that gentlemen have of going out be- tween the acts," said he, "unless you ladies combine, and insist on a higher grade of orchestral excellence." "I have a large library," continued Aunt Ella, "and she may find many books in it that will be of use to her. Robert spent eighteen thousand dollars on it, and I've bought a couple of thousand dollars' worth more since his death. Now, what do you say, Quincy? You know I will d'o all in my power to make her comfortable and happy while she is here. If Maude runs up, and she's the only one that is likely to, I will tell her that I have friends here from Eng- land. I will keep her out of the way. Will you bring her?" "If she will come, I will," Quincy replied. "You will never repent it," said Aunt Ella. "Now let us go upstairs." When they reached her room the cigars and cigarettes were again in requisition. "I kept my promise the other day, Quincy," said she, "when the three girls were here. What a sweet, rosy- cheeked, healthy, happy trio they were ! I wasn't more than twenty myself that day. I give you my solemn promise, Quincy, that I won't smoke a cigarette nor drink a glass of wine while Alice is here, — ^until after she goes to bed; and then I'll eat a clove and air the room out thoroughly before I let. her in in the morning." BLENNEEHASSETT. S97 Quincy was up early next morning, and at ten minutes oi nine reached the lodging house in Myrtle Street. He had taken a carriage, for he knew Miss Very would have her luggage, probably a trunk. His call at the door was an- swered by a sharp-eyed, hatchet-faced woman, whose face was red with excitement. To Quincy's inquiry if Miss Very was in, the woman replied, "that she was in and was likely to stay in." "I trust she is not sick," said Quincy. "No! she ain't sick," the woman replied, "what you mean by sick; but there's worse things than bein' sick, especially when a poor widder has a big house rent to pay and coal seven dollars and a half a ton.'' A small trunk, neatly strapped, stood in the hallway. Glancing into the stufify little parlor, he saw a woman, ap- parently young, with her veil down, seated on a sofa, with a large valise on the floor and a hand bag at her side. Quincy divined the situation at once. Stepping into the hallway, he closed the parlor door, and, turning to the woman, said, "How much?" "Three dollars," replied the woman/'and it's cheap enough for — " "A miserable little dark stufify side room, without any heat, up three flights, back," broke in Quincy, as he passed her the money. The woman was breathless with astonishment and anger. Taking advantage of this, Quincy opened the parlor door, first beckoning to the coachman to come in and get the trunk. "Miss Very, I presume?" said Quincy, as he advanced towards the young lady on the sofa. She arose as he approached, and answered, "Yes, sir." "Come with me, please," said he, grasping the valise. She hesitated; he understood why. "It's all right," he said, in a low tone. "I've settled with the landlady, and you can settle with me any time." 398 QUIKCT ADAMS SAWYER. "Thank you, so much," spoke a sweet voice from under- neath the veil, and the owner of it followed close behind him, and he handed her into the carriage. As Quincy pulled the carriage door to, that of the lodging house closed) with a report like that of a pistol, and Mrs. Colby went down stairs and told the servant, who was scrubbing the kitchen floor, what had occurred, and added that she "had always had her suspicions of that Miss Very." While Quincy was talking with Alice the day before, his dinner that Mrs. Hawkins had saved for him was being burned to a crisp in and on the stove. Mrs. Hawkins's at- tention was finally attracted to it, and, turning to Betsy, she said, "Law sakes, somethin' must be burnin.' " Run- ning to the stove, she soon discovered the cause. "Mercy on me!" she ejaculated. "I left that damper open, and his dinner's burnt to a cinder. Wall, I don't care ; he may be a good lodger, an' all that, but he's a mighty poor boarder; and it's no satisfaction gittin' up things for him to eat, and then lettin' them go to waste, even if he does pay for it. Them's my sentiments, and I'll feel better now I've spit it out." The good woman went to work to clean up her stove, while Betsy kept on with the seemingly endless dish wash- ing. Mrs. Hawkins finished her work, and, going to the sink, began to wipe the accumulated pile of dishes. "I s'pose everybody in town will go to church next Sun- day," said Mrs. Hawkins, "to see them bridtes." "Will they look any dififerent than they did the other day?" Betsy innocently inquired. "Well, I guess," remarked Mrs.' Hawkins. "I saw Mandy yesterday and she told me all about her trip to the city. Mts. Chessman went shoppin' with them, and the way she beat them shopkeepers down was a sight, Mandy says. It beats all how them rich folks can buy things so much cheaper than us poor peop'le can. She took them all BLENNERHASSETT. 399 home to dinner, and Mandy says she hves in the most beautifulest house she ever saw. Then she went to the dressmakers with them, and she beat them down more'n five dollars on each gown. Then she took 'em to the milli- nery store, and she bought each one of them a great big handsome hat, with feathers and ribbons and flowers all over 'em. Nobody has seen 'em yet, but all three on 'em are going to wear 'em to church next Sunday, and won't there be a stir? Nobody '11 look at the new orgin." "I wish I could go," said Betsy. Mrs. Hawkins rattled on : "Mandy says she took 'em all into a jewelry store, and bought each one on 'em a breast- pin, a pair of earrings, and a putty ring, to remember her by. Then she druv 'em down to the deepo in her carriage." "I wish I could see them with all their fine things on," said Betsy, again. "Well, you shall, Betsy,'' said good-hearted Mrs. Haw- kins. "I'll make Jonas help me wash the dishes Sunday mornin', and you shall go to church." Betsy's face was wreathed in smiles. "You're so good to me, Mrs. Hawkins," she cried. "Well," answered Mrs. Hawkins, "you've worked like a Trojan the last week, and you deserve it. I guess if I go up in the attic I can git a good look at them as they're walking home from church." In her excitement the old lady dropped a cup and saucer on the floor, and both mistress and maid went down on their hands and knees to pick up the pieces. CHAPTER XXXV. "THE BIRD OF LOVE." THE carriage containing Quincy and Rosa was driven at a rapid rate toward the station. There was no time to lose, as some had already been lost in the alterca- tion with Mrs. Colby. They had proceeded but a short distance, when Rosa took out a pocketbook, and, lifting her veil, turned her face to Quiney. What a striking face it was ! Large, dark blue eyes, regu- lar features, a light olive complexion, with a strong dash of red in each cheek, full red lips, and hair of almost raven blackness. Like lightning the thought flashed through Quincy's mind, "What a contrast to my Alice !" for he al- ways used the pronoun when he thought of her. "Allow me to cancel part of my indebtedness to you,'' said Rosa, in a low, sweet voice, and Quincy again thought how pleasant that voice would be to Alice when Miss Very was reading to her. As Rosa spoke she handed Quincy a two-dollar bill and seventy-five cents iti currency. "I owe you an explanation," she continued. "Mr. Ernst told me that I must be ready to accompany you the mo- ment you called, so I packed and strapped my trunk last evening. When I returned from breakfast this morning I looked through my pocketbook, and found to my surprise that I lacked a quarter of a dollar of enough to pay for my week's lodging. In my haste I had put my jewel case, which contained the greater part of my money, in my trunk, and I realized that there would not be time to unpack and pack it again before your arrival. I ofifered Mrs. Colby ths THE BIRD OF LOVE. 401 two seventy-five, and told her I would send her the balance in a letter as soon as I arrived at my destination. To my astonishment, she refused to take it, saying that she would have the three dollars or nothing." "If I had known that," said Quincy, "she would have got nothing." "Oh! it's all right," remarked Rosa, with a smile. "I know the poor woman has hard work to make a living, and I also know that she has lost considerable money from per- sons failing to pay at all or paying part of their bills and then not sending the balance, as they promised to do." "And did she get up all that ugliness for a quarter of a dollar?" inquired Quincy. "Oh! that wasn't the reason at all," replied Rosa; "I've always paid her promptly and in advance. She was mad because I was going away. If she lets the room right ofif she will get double rent this coming week, for it so hap- pened my week ended last night." "Lodging-house keepers," said Quincy, "seem to be a class by themselves, and tO' have peculiar financial and moral codes. • Here we are at the station," he added, as the carriage came to a stop. As Quincy handed Rosa from the carriage, his observant eye noticed that the hand placed in his was small and well- gloved, while the equally small feet were encased in a pair of dainty boots. "She is true to her French origin,'' he soliloquized, as they entered the station, — "well-booted, well-gloved. I am glad she is a lady." The train was soon on its way to Eastborough. It was an accommodation, and Quincy had plenty of time to point out the objects of interest on the way. Rosa was not a lover of the country. She acknowledged this to Quincy, saying that she was born and educated in the country, but that she preferred paved streets and brick sidewalks to green lanes and dusty roads. 402 QUINCT ABAMS SAWrER. Alice had not waited for Quincy's return to broach the matter of the gift of the Putnam house to Ezekiel and Huldy. She had simply asked Quincy, so as to assure her- self that there was no legal objection or reason why she should not make the transfer. After breakfast the next morning she told her uncle that she wished to have a talk with him in the parlor, and when they were alone together,, she stated her intentions to him, as she had to Quincy. The old gentleman approved of her plan, only suggesting that it should be a swap; that is, that Ezekiel should deed the house in which they were, in which, in fact, she owned a half-interest, to her, so she would be sure of a home in case she lost part of her money, or all of it, or wished to live in the country. Most opportunely, Ezekiel and Huldy came over that morning to make a call, and the matter was soon under dis- cussion in family conclave. Ezekiel at first objected strenuously to the gift. He would buy the house, he said, and pay so imuch a year on it, but both Alice and Uncle Ike protested that it was foolish for a young couple to start in life with such a heavy debt hanging over them. The only circumstance that led him to change his mind and agree to accept the Putnam homestead as a gift was Uncle Ike's suggestion that he deed the Pettengill home- stead to Alice, and pay her all he received for the sale of products from the present Pettengill farm; but 'Zekiel would not accept any loan. He said Deacon Mason had given his daughter five thousand dollars outright, and that would be all the cash they would need to stock and carry on both the farms. Then 'Zekiel said he might as well settle on who was to live in the two houses. He knew that Cobb's twins would like to stay with him, and he would take them up to the Putnam house with him. Mrs. Pinkham had been hired THE BIRD OP LOVE. 403 by the executors to remain with Samanthy until some one came to live in the house. Ezekiel said Samanthy was a good girl, and he and Huldy both liked her, and he telt pretty sure she'd be willing to live with them, because she was used to the house, and as it was the only one she'd ever lived in, it would seem Hke going away from home if she left there and went somewhere else. Then 'Zekiel was of the opinion that Abbott Smith and Billy Ricker had better board with Hiram and Mandy, be- cause the grocery teams and horses would have to be kept in the Pettengill barn, as there was no stable to the grocery store. " 'Twon't be stealin' anythin' from Mrs. Hawkins if they don't board with her, cuz none of 'em ever lived with her afore.'' "Don't you think, 'Zekiel," asked Huldy, "that Uncle Ike ought to come down stairs and have a better room? It will be awful hot up there in the summer. AHce and I used to play up there, and in July and August it was hot enough to roast eggs, wasn't it, Alice?'' Alice, thus appealed to, said it might have been hot enough, but she was positive that they never did roast any up there, although she remembered setting the attic floor on fire one day with a burning glass. 'Zekiel remembered that, too, and how they had to put new ceilings on two rooms, because he used so much water to put the fire out. When Uncle Ike got a chance to speak, he said to Huldy, "Thank you, my dear Mrs. Pettengill," with a strong ac- cent on the Mrs., which made Huldy blush a rosy red, "but I wouldn't swap my old attic for all the rest of the rooms in the house. My old blood requires warmth, and I can stand ninety-six without asking for a fan. When I come up to see you, you can put me in one of your big square rooms, but I sha'n't stay long, because I don't like them." The noise of wheels was heard, and Huldy ran to the window to look out. "Oh, it's Mr. Sawyer,'' said shej "and he's got a young 404 QtriNCY ADAMS SAWYER. lady with him, and she's got a trunk. I wonder who she is? Do you know, Alice?" "•I don't know who she is," repHed AHce; "but I can imagine what she's here for." "Is it a secret?" asked Huldy. "No, not exactly a secret," replied Alice. "It's a busi- ness matter. I have a great many things to be read over to me, and considerable writing to do, and as Mr. Sawyer is going away, I was obliged to have some one to help me." "Well!" said Huldy, "you'll miss Mr. Sawyer when he goes away; I did. Now you mustn't get jealous, Mr. Pet- tengill," she said to 'Zekiel; "you know Mr. Sawyer and I were never in love with each other. That was all village gossip, started by, you know who, and as for Mr. Sawyer liking Lindy Putnam, or she liking him, I know better. She's never got over the loss of her brother Jones, who, it seems, wasn't her real brother, after all; and Samanthy Green told me the other day that Lindy wanted to marry him." "I think matters are getting rather too personal for me," said Uncle Ike, rising. "I may get drawn into it if I stay any longer. I always liked Lindy Putnam myself." And the old gentleman laughed heartily as he left the room. "Well, I guess you and nie'd better be goin', if we want to be home at dinner time," said 'Zekiel to Huldy. Then, going to his sister, he took her in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. "You know, AHce," said he, "that I ain't much of a talker, but I shall never forget how good you've been to me and Huldy, and if the old house burns down or you get lonesome, you'll always find the latchstring out up to the new house, an' there'll be a room, an' board, an' good care for you as long as you want to stay. Eh, Huldy?" said 'Zekiel, turning to his wife. "You know, 'Zekiel," replied the impulsive Huldy, "I've THE BIRD OF LOTE. 405 said a dozen times that I wished Alice would come and live with us. Won't you, Alice?" she added. "I never had a sister, and I think it would be delightful to have one all to myself, especially," she added archly, "when I have her brother, too." "I could never live in that house," said Alice, with a slight shudder; "besides, I think my future path in life is being marked out for me by the hand of Fate, which I am powerless to resist. I am afraid that it will take me away from you, my dear ones; but if it does, I shall always love you both, and pray for your happiness and success." At the front door 'Zekiel and Huldy met Quincy. The latter had turned Miss Very over to the care of Mrs. Max- well, and had got one of the twins to carry the young lady's trunk to her room, which was the one formerly occupied by Mandy. He had then driven the carryall around to the barn and was returning, anxious to bear his tidings of suc- cess to Alice, when he met the departing couple. "I hear you are going to leave us," said Huldy. "Who told you?" inquired Quincy. "Alice," replied Huldy; "and' I told her she'd miss you very much when you were gone." "I am afraid,'' repHed Quincy, "that any service that I have rendered Miss Pettengill has not been of so important a nature that it would be greatly missed. I am glad that I have succeeded in securing her a companion and assistant of her own sex, which will much more than compensate for the loss of my feeble services." "That's what I don't like about city folks," said Huldy Pettengill, as she walked along the path, hanging on her husband's arm. "What's that?" asked 'Zekiel bluntly. "Because," continued Hyldy, "they use such big words to cover up their real feelings. Of course, he wouldn't let on to us, but any one with half an eye could see that he's 406 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. head over heels in love with your sister Alice, and he'd stand on his head if she told him to." > "Well, Alice is too sensible a girl to ask him to do that sort of thing," said 'Zekiel frankly. "Any way, I don't believe she's in love with him." " 'Twould be a great match for her," said Huldy. "I don't know 'bout that. On general principles, I don't believe in country girls marryin' city fellers." "I know you don't," S2iid Huldy, and she gave his arm a little squeeze. "But," continued 'Zekiel, "Alice is different from most country girls. Besides, she's lived in the city and knows city ways. Anyway, I sha'n't interfere; I know Mr. Saw- yer is a respectable young man, and, by George! when he wants to do anything, don't he jest put it through. The way he sarcumvented that Strout was as good as a circus.'' "I think I sarcumvented that Strout, too," said Huldy, as they reached the corner of Deacon Mason's front fence. "You've been quite a little flirt in your day," remarked 'Zekiel, "but it's all over now;" and he squeezed the little hand that stole confidingly into his big, brawny one. Quincy at once entered the parlor and found Alice seated in her accustomed easy-chair. "You have returned, Sir Knight," was the remark with which Alice greeted him. "I have, fair lady," replied Quincy, in the same vein; "I have captured one of the enemy and brought her as a pris- oner to your castle. Here are some documents," he con- tinued, as he placed the proofs in Alice's hands, "that con- tain valuable secrets, and they will, no doubt, furnish strong evidence against the prisoner." "What is it?" asked Alice, holding up the package. "They are the proofs of three of your stories," replied Quincy, relapsing into commonplace; "and Leopold says they must be read and corrected at once. If we can attend to this during the afternoon and evening, I will go up ta THE BIRD OF LOVB. 407 Boston again to-morrow morning." Quincy then told Alice about Rosa and the terms that he had made with her, and Alice expressed herself as greatly pleased with the arrangement. "You will find Miss Very a perfect lady,'' said Quincy, "with a low, melodious voice that will not jar upon your ears, as mine, no doubt, has often done." "You are unfair to yourself, when you say that," re- marked Alice earnestly. "Your voice has never jarred upon my ears, and I have always been pleased to listen to you.'' Whether Quincy's voice would have grown softer and sweeter and his words more impassioned if the interview had continued, cannot be divined, for Mrs. Maxwell at that moment opened the parlor door and called out, "Dinner's ready," just as Mandy Skin-nef used to do in the days gone by. Miss Very was introduced to Alice and the others at the dinner table, and took the seat formerly occupied by 'Ze- kiel. Quincy consented to remain to dinner, as he knew his services would be required in the proof reading. When Cobb's twins reached the bam, after dinner, Jim said to Bill, "Isn't she a stunner! I couldn't keep my eyes off'n her." "Neither could I," rejoined Bill. "I tell yer, Jim, style comes nat'ral to city folks. I'll be durned if I know whether I had chicken or codfish for dinner." After the noonday meal the three zealous toilers in the paths of literature began work. Quincy read from the man- uscript, Rosa held the proofs, while Alice listened intently, and from time to time made changes in punctuation or slight alterations in the language. No sentence had to be rewritten, and when the reading of the story. Was It Signed? was finished, Rosa said, "A remarkably clean set of proofs; only a few changes, and those slight ones. In the case of very few authors are their original ideas and secondi 408 QUISrCY ADAMS SAWYER. thoughts so harmonious. How do you manage it, Miss Pettengill?" "Oh, I don't know," replied AUce, with a smile, "unless it is that I keep my original ideas in my mind until they reach the stage of second thoughts, and then I have them' written down." "You will find Miss Pettengill very exact in dictation," said Quincy to Rosa. "I took that long story there down in pencil, and I don't think Fwas obliged to change a dozen words." "To work with Miss Pettengill," remarked Rosa, "will be more of a pleasure than a task." This idea was re-echoed in Quincy's mind, and for a mo- ment he had a feeling of positive envy towards Miss Very. Then he thought that hers was paid service, while his had been a labor — of love. Yes, it might as well be put that way. The sun had sunk quite low in the west when the second story. Her Native Land, was completed. "How dramatic !" cried Rosa; "the endings of those chapters are as strong as stage tableaus." "It is being dramatized by Jameson of the 'Daily Uni- verse,'" said Quincy. "I am well acquainted' with Mr. Jameson," remarked Rosa; "I belong to a social club of which he is the presi- dent. He is a very talented young man and a great worker. He once told me that when he began newspaper work he wrote eighteen hours out of twenty-four for a month, and nearly every night he woke up and made notes that he wrote out in the morning. Do you believe in unconscious mental cerebration, Mr. Sawyer?" "I'm afraid not," replied Quincy, laughing; "T never had ideas enough to keep my brain busy all day, much less supply it with work at night." "Mr. Sawyer is always unfair to himself," remarked Alice to Miss Very. "As for myself, I will answer your question THE BIRD OF LOVE. 409 in the affirmative. I have often gone to bed with only the general idea of a story in my mind, and have awakened with the details all thought out and) properly placed." "I think it best to postpone the reading of the last story until after supper," said Quincy. Alice assented, and, turning to Rosa, asked, "Do you Hke the country. Miss Very?" "To speak honestly," replied Rosa, "I do not. I told Mr. Sawyer so on the train. It is hotter in the country than it is in the city. I can't bear the ticking of a clock in my room, and I think crickets and owls are more nerve-destroy- ing than clocks, and I positively detest anything that buzzes and stings, like bees, and wasps, and hornets." "But don't you like cows, and sheep, and horses?'' asked Alice; "I love them." "And I don't," said Rosa frankly. "I like beefsteak and roast lamb, but I never saw a cow that didn't have a fero- cious glare in its eye when it looked at me." Both Quincy and Alice laughed heartily. "As for horses," continued Rosa, "I never drive alone. When I'm with some one I alternate between hope and fear until I reach my destina- tion." "I trust yow were more hopeful than fearful on your way from Eastborough Centre," said Quincy. "Oh ! I saw at a glance," remarked Rosa, "that you were a skilful driver, and I trusted! you implicitly." ^'1 have had to rely a great deal upon Mr. Sawyer," re- marked Alice, "and, like yourself, I have always placed the greatest confidence in him. Huldy told me this morning, Mr. Sawyer, that I would miss you very much, and I know I shall." "But you will have Miss Very with you constantly," said Quincy. "Oh! she does not like the country," continued Alice, "and she will get homesick in a little while." "One's likes and one's duties often conflict," said Rosa; 410 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEK. and a grave look settled upon her face. "But how can you write your book down here, Miss Pettengill? You will have to consult hundreds of books, if you intend to write an historical novel, as Mr. Sawyer told me you did. You ought to have access to the big libraries in Boston, and, besides, in the second-hand bookstores you can buy such treasures for a mere song, if you will only spend the time to hunt for them." "That reminds me," broke in Quincy, "that my aunt, Mrs. Chessman, — she is my mother's only sister, who lives on Mt. Vernon Street, — ^wished me to extend a cordial invi- tation to you two young ladies to visit her, while I am get- ting your summer home ready for you. She suggests Nan- tucket as the best place for work, but with every oppor- tunity for enjoyment, when work becomes a burden." "Oh, that will be delightful," cried Rosa. "I love the sea, and there we shall have it all around us; and at night, the great dome of Heaven, studded with stars, will reach down to the sea on every side, and they say at 'Sconset, on the east end of the island, that when the breakers come in the sight is truly magnificent." Quincy was inwardly amused at Rosa's enthusiasm, but it served his purpose to encourage it, so he said, "I wish Aunt Ella were her to join forces with Miss Very. You would find it hard work to resist both of them, Miss Pet- tengill." "You mean all three of you," said Alice, with a smile. "If we go to Nantucket," added Rosa, "I shall have to spend a week in the city, and perhaps more. I have no dresses suitable for so long, a residence at the beach." "Neither have T," coincided Alice, with a laugh. There the matter was dropped. Quincy knew too much to press the question to a decision that evening. He had learned by experience that Alice never said yes or no until her mind was made up, and he knew that the answer was more likely to be favorable if he gave her plenty of time THE BIRD OF LOVE. 4H for reflection ; besides, he thought that Alice might wish to know more particularly what his aunt said, for she would be likely to consider that his aunt must have some reason for giving such an invitation to two persons who were vir- tually strangers to her. After supper, the third story, How He Lost Both Name and Fortune, was read and corrected, and it was the unu- sually late hour of eleven o'clock before the lights in the Pettengill house were extinguished. It was past midnight when Quincy sought his room at Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house, and the picture of Alice Pettengill, that he had pur- loined so long ago, stood on a Httle table at the* head of his bed, leaning against a large family Bible, which he found in the room. The next morning he was up early, and visited the gro- cery store. Mr. Strout and Hiram both assured him that business had picked up amazingly^ and was really "splen- did." The new wagons were building up trade very fast. Billy Ricker went over to Montrose for orders Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and delivered them in the afternoons. This gave Abbott Smith a chance to post up the books on those days, for he had been made book- keeper. He went to Eastborough Centre and Westvale, the new name given to West Eastborough at the last town meeting, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings. He delivered goods on the afternoons of those days, which gave him an opportunity to spend Sunday at home with his father and his family. When Quincy reached the Pettengill house, Mrs, Max- well informed him that Miss Pettengill was in the parlor alone. After greeting Alice, Quincy asked, "But -where is Miss Very?" "I told her I should not need her services until after I had seen you," she replied. "I have a question to ask you, Mr. Sawyer, and) I know you will give me a truthful an- 412 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYEK. swer. What led your aunt to invite me to come and visit her?" Quincy knew that Alice had been considering the mat- ter, and this one simple question, to which she expected a truthful answer, was the crucial test. He did not hesitate in replying. If he did, he knew the result would be fatal to his hopes. "Only the promptings of her own good nature. She is one of the warmest-hearted women in the world," contin- ued Quincy. "I will tell you just how.it happened. I told her I had found an assistant to help you in your work, and that the next thing was to fix upon a place for a summer residence. I asked her opinion, and after considering the advantages and disadvantages of a score of places, she finally settled upon Nantucket as being the most desirable. Then she said, 'While you are finding a place and getting it ready for them, ask Miss Pettengill to come and visit me and bring her friend. Tell her that I am rich, as far as money goes, but poor in love and companionship. Tell them both that I shall love to have them come and will do everything I can to make their visit a pleasant one.' Those- were her words as nearly as I can remember them;" and Quincy waited silently for the decision. It soon came. Alice went to him and extended her hand, which Quincy took. "Tell her," said Alice in her quiet way, "that I thank hervery mttch and that we will come." "How soon?" inquired Quincy anxiously and rather ab- ruptly. "In a few days,'' repHed Alice. "I pan get ready much sooner with Miss Very to help me." She withdrew the hand, which she had unconsciously allowed to remain in his so long, and a slight flush mounted to her cheek, for Quincy had equally unconsciously given it a gentle pressure as he relinquished it. "I must do up these proofs," said he, going to the table. THE BIRD OF LOVE. 413 "I will get the next train to Boston. I will be back to- morrow noon, and in the afternoon I will drive over to Montrose about that deed of the Putnam house. I know Aunt Ella will be delighted to hear that you are coming." But he said nothing about his own delight at being the bearer of the tidings. When he had gone, Alice sat in her chair as she had many a time 'before and thought. As she sat there she real- ized more strongly than she had ever done that if Fate was marking out her course for her, it had certainly chosen as its chief instrument the masterful young man who had ju'^t left her. The remainder of that day and the morning of the next Alice spent in dictating to Rosa a crude general outline of Blentierhassett. During the work she was obliged, natur- ally, to address Rosa many times, and uniformly called her Miss Very. Finally Rosa said, "Wouldn't you just as soon call me Rosa? Miss Very seems so stiff and formal." "I hope you will not consider me uncompanionable or set in my ways," remarked AHce. "We are working, you know, and not playing," she continued with a sweet smile. "I have no doubt you are worthy of both my esteem and love, but I have known you less than a day and such things come slowly with me. Let me call you Miss Very, because you are that to me now. When the time comes, as I feel it will, to call you Rosa, it shall come from a full Jieart. When I call you Rosa, it will be because I love you, and, after that, nothing will ever change my feelings towards you." "I understand you," replied Rosa. "I will work and wait." Quincy arrived at about the same time of day that he did when he came with Rosa. Miss Very had gone to her room, so that he saw Alice alone. He told her that his aunt was greatly pleased at her acceptance and would be ready to receive her at any time that it was convenient for her to 414 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. come. He proffered his services to aid Jier in getting ready for the journey, but she told him that with Miss Very's help she would need no other assistance. "I have another matter of business to speak about," con- tinued she, "and if you will kindly attend to that, when you go to Montrose, it will oblige me very much. You are al- ways doing something to make me your debtor," she added with a smile. "I would do more if you would! allow me," replied Quincy. "The fact is," said Alice, " 'Zekiel does not wish to bor- row any money, nor would he accept the gift of the Put- nam homestead unless he, in turn, deeded this house and farm to me. He is going to run this farm and pay me what he gets from the sale of products. If you will have Squire Rundlett draw up both deeds and the agreement, the whole matter can be fixed before I go away." Quincy promised to give his attention to the matter that afternoon^ He drove up to his boarding house and hitched his horse at the front door. Mrs. Hawkins saw him enter and take his seat at the dinner table. "There's that Mr. Sawyer; he's slept in this house just one night and eaten just one meal up to this noon for nigh on a week. Them city folks must have Injun rubber stummicks and cast iron backs or they couldn't eat in so many different places and sleep in so many different beds. Why, if I go away and stay over night, wlien I git home I'm alius sicker'n a horse and tired enough to drop.'' Quincy went to Montrose that afternoon and saw Squire Rundlett. The latter promised to make the papers but the next day, and said he would bring them over for signing the following morning. Quincy drove down to Deacon Mason's and told 'Zekiel when to be on hand, and after leaving the team in the Pettengill bam, saw Alice and in- formed her of the Squire's proposed visit. He told her THE BIRD OF LOYB. 415 that he would come down that morning to act as a witness, if his services were required. He spent the next day at the grocery store, going over the stock with Strout and Abbott Smith, and had a Hst made of articles that they thought it would be advisable to carry in the future. He told Strout that he would visit some wholesale grocery houses in Boston and have sam- ples sent down. "Mr. Sawyer is improvin'," said Mrs. Hawkins to Betsy the next morning after breakfast. "He's slept in his bed two nights runnin', and he's eat four square meals, and seemed to enjoy them, too. I guess he didn't git much when he was jumpin' 'round so from one place to another." Squire Rundlett kept his word, and the legal documents were duly signed and executed. Alice told the Squire that she was going away for several months, and that she would undoubtedly send to him from time to time. "My dear Miss Pettengill," replied the gallant Squire, "you shall have all you ask for if I have to sell my best horse and mortgage my house. But I don't think it will be necessary," he added. "Some more dividends and in- terest have come in and I have more than a thousand dol- lars to your credit now." After the Squire had left, Alice told Quincy that her preparations were all made, and that she would be ready to go to Boston the next day. The mid-day train was fixed upon. After dinner that day, Quincy informed Mrs. Haw- kins that he wished to pay his bill in full, as he should leave for good the next day. Holding the money in her hand, Mrs. Hawkins entered the kitchen and addressed Betsy. "Just what I expected," said she; "jest as that Mr. Saw- yer got to stayin' home nights and eating his meals like a Christian, he ups an' gits. T guess it'll be a dry summer. I kinder thought them two boys over to the grocery would come here, but I understand they're goin' down to Petten- 416 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTBR. gill's, and somebody told me that Stro«t goes over to East- borough Centre every Sunday now. I s'pose he's tryin' to shine up again to that Bessie Chisholm, that he used to be sweet on. When he goes to keepin' house there'll be another boarder gone;" and the poor woman, having bor- rowed enough trouble, sat down and wiped a supposed tear out of each eye with her greasy apron. Quincy reached Aunt Ella's residence with the young ladies about noon. Aunt Ella gave the three travellers a hearty welcome, and the young ladies were shown at once to their rooms, which were on the third floor at the front of the house. They were connected, so that Rosa could be close at hand in case AHce should need assistance. While the footman and Buttons were taking the trunks upstairs, Quincy asked his aunt if he could leave his trunk there for a short time. "I do not wish to take it home," he said, "until after I have the ladies settled at Nantucket. The carriage is waiting outside and I am going to get the one o'clock train.'' ''I will take good care of your trunk," said Aunt Ella, "and you, too, if you will come and live with me. But can't you stop to lunch with us?" she asked. But Quincy declined, and requesting bis aunt to say good-by to the young ladies for him, he entered the carriage and was driven off. After luncheon, which was served! in the dining-room, General Chessman and Aides-de-Camp Pettengill and Very held a counsel of war in the General's private tent. It was decided that the mornings should be devoted, for a while, at least, to shopping and visiting modistes and milliners. Miss Very was also to give some of her time to visits to the libraries and the second-hand bookstores looking for books that would be of value to Alice in her work. The afternoons were to be passed in conversation and in listening to Miss Very's reading from the books that she had purchased or taken from the libraries. The evenings were to be filled up THE BIRD OF LOVE. 417 with music, and the first one disclosed the pleasing fact that Miss Very had a rich, full contralto voice that had been well cultivated and that she could play Beethoven or the songs of the day with equal facility. While the feminine trio were thus enjoying themselves in Boston with an admixture of work and play, Quincy was busily engaged at Nantucket in building a nest for them, as he called it. He had found a large, old-fashioned house on the bluff at the north shore, overlooking the harbor, owned by Mrs. Gibson. She was a widow with two children, one a boy of about nineteen, named Thomas, and the other a girl of twelve, named Dorothy, but generally designated as Tommy and Dolly. Mrs. Gibson consented to let her second floor for a period of four months, and to supply them with meals. The price was fixed upon, and Quincy knew he had been unusually lucky in securing so desirable a location at such a reason- able price. There were three rooms, one a large front room, with a view of the harbor, and back of it two sleeping rooms, look- ing out upon a large garden at the rear of the house. Quincy mentally surveyed the large room and marked the places with a piece of chalk upon the carpet where the piano and the bookcase were to go. Then he decided that the room needed a lounge and a desk with all necessary fixtures and stationery for Rosa to work at. There were some stifif-backed chairs in the room, but he concluded that a low easy-chair, like the one Alice had at home, and a couple of wicker rocking chairs, which would be cool and comfortable during the hot summer days, were absolutely essential. He then returned to Boston, hired an upright piano and purchased the other articles, including a comfortable office- chair to go with the desk. He was so afraid that he would forget some article of stationery that he made a list and 418 QUmCY ADAMS SAWYER. checked it off. But this did not satisfy him. He spent a whole morning in different stationery stores looking over their stocks to make sure that he had omitted nothing. The goods were packed and shipped by express to Mrs. Thomas Gibson, Nantucket, Mass. Then, and not till then, did Quincy seek his aunt's residence with the intelligence that the nest was builded and ready for the birds. When he informed the ladies that everything was ready for their reception at their summer home. Aunt Ella said that their departure would have to be delayed for a few days, as the delinquent dressmakers had failed to deliver certain arti- cles of wearing apparel. This argument was, of course, unanswerable, and Quincy devoted the time to visiting the wholesale grocers, as he had promised Strout that he would do, and to buying and shipping a long list of books that Miss Very informed him Miss Pettengill needed for her work. He learned that during his absence the proofs of The Man Without a Tongue had been brought over by Mr. Ernst and read and corrected, Aunt Ella taking Quincy's place as reader. At last^all was readly, and on the tenth of May a party of three ladies and one gentleman was driven to the station in time for the one o'clock train. They had lunched early and the whole party was healthy, happy, and in the best of spirits. Then came the leave-takings. The two young la- dies and the gentleman sped away upon the train, while the middle-aged lady started for home in her carriage, telling herself a dozen times on the way that she knew she would be lonesomer than ever when she got there. The trip by train and! boat was uneventful. Alice sat quietly and enjoyed the salt sea breeze, while both Quincy and Rosa entertained her with descriptions of the bits of land and various kinds of sailing craft that came in sight. It was nearly seven o'clock when the steamer rounded BrantPoint. In a short time it was moored to the wharf, and the party, with their baggage, were conveyed swiftly THE BIKD OF LOVE. 410 to Mrs. Gibson's, that lady having been notified by Quincy to expect them at any moment. He did not enter the house. He told Miss Very to address him care of his aunt if they needed anything, and that Mr. Ernst and himself would come down when Miss Pettengill had completed two or three chapters of her book. Quincy then bade them good-by and was driven to a modest hotel close to the steamboat wharf. He took the morning boat to Boston, and that afternoon informed Aunt Ella of the safe arrival of his fair charges. "What are you going to do now?" asked Aunt Ella. "I'm going to find my father," replied Quincy, "and through him secure introductions to the other members of my family." "Good-by," said Aunt Ella; "if they don't treat you well come and stay with me and we will go to Old Orchard to- gether about the first of June. I never skip out the last of April, because I always enjoy having a talk with the as- sessor when he comes around in May." When Rosa took her seat at the new desk next morning, she exclaimed with delight, "What a nice husband Mr. Sawyer would make!" "What makes you think so?" inquired Alice gravely. "Because he'd be such a good hand to go shopping," Rosa answered. "I've been all over this desk twice and I don't believe he has forgotten a single thing that we are likely to need." ^'Good work requires good tools," remarked Alice. "And a good workman," interposed Rosa. "Then we have every adjunct for success," said Alice, "and we will commence just where we left off at Mrs. Chessman's." The work on the book progressed famously. Alice was in fine mental condition and Rosa seemingly took as much interest in its progress as did her employer. In three .weeks the three opening chapters had been jsritten, "II 420 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. wonder what Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst will think of that?" said Alice, as Rosa wrote the last line of the third chapter. "I am going to write to Mr. Sawyer to-day. We must have those books before we can go much farther. Would it not be well to tell him that we are ready for our audi- ence?" Alice assented, and the letter reached Quincy one Fri- day evening, it being his last call on his aunt before her departure for Old Orchard. "Give my love to both of them," said Aunt Ella, "and tell AHce I send her a kiss. I won't tell you how to deliver it ; you will probably find some way before you come back." . Quincy protested that he could not undertake to deliver it, but his aunt only laughed, kissed him, bade him good-by, and told him to be sure and come down to Maine to see her. Quincy and Leopold took the Saturday afternoon boat and arrived, as usual, about seven o'clock. They both re- paired to the hotel previously patronized by Quincy, hav- ing decided to defer their call upon the young ladies until Sunday morning. It was a bright, beautiful day, not a cloud was to be seen in the broad, blue expanse above them. A cool breeze was blowing steadily from the southwest, and as the young men walked down Centre Street towards the Cliff, Leopold remarked that he did not wonder that the Nantucketers loved their "tight little isle" and were sorry to leave it. "One seems to be nearer Heaven here than he does in a crowded city, don't he, Quincy?" Quincy thought to himself that his Heaven was in Nantucket, and that he was very near to it, but he did not choose to utter these feelings to his friend, so he merely remarked that the sky did seem much nearer. They soon reached Mrs. Gibson's and were shown di- rectly to the young ladies' parlor and library, for it an- swered both purposes. They were attired in two creations of Mrs. Chessman's dressmaker, Aunt Ella having selected THE BIRD or LOVE. 421 the materials and designed the costumes, for which art she had a great talent. Rosa's dress was of a dark rose tint, with revers and a V-shaped neck, filled in with tulle of a dark green hue. The only other trimming on the dress was a green silk cord that bordered the edges of the revers and the bottom of the waist. As Quincy looked at her, for she sat nearest to the door, she reminded him of a beautiful red rose, and the green leaves which enhanced its beauty. Then his eyes turned quickly to Alice, who sat in her easy- chair, near the window. Her dress was of light blue, with square-cut neck, filled in with creamy white lace. In her hair nestled a flower, light pink in color, and as Quincy looked at her he thought of the little blue flower called forget-me-not, and recalled the fact that wandering one day in the country, during his last year at college, he had come upon a little brook, both sides of which, for hundreds of feet, were lined with masses of this modest little flower. Ah ! but this one forget-me-not was more to him than all the world beside. The greetings were soon over, and Quincy was assured by both young ladies that they were happy and contented, and that every requisite for their comfort "had been supphed by Mrs. Gibson. The reading then began. Rosa possessed a full, flexible, dramatic voice, and the strong passages were delivered with great fervor, while the sad or sentimental ones were tinged with a tone of deep pathos. At the conclusion Alice said, "I wish Miss Very could read my book to the publishers." "You forget,'^' remarked Leopold, with a laugh, "that reading it to me will probably amount to the same thing." A merry party gathered about Mrs. Gibson's table at dinner, after which they went for a drive through the streets of the quaint old town. Quincy had, as the phre- nologists say, a great bump for locality. Besides, he had studied a map of the town while coming down, and, as he 422 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. remarked, they couldn't get lost for any great length of time, as Nantucket was an island, and the water suppliedl a natural boundary to prevent their getting too far out of their way. While Dolly Gibson was helping her mother by wiping the dinner dishes, she said, with that air of judicial convic- tion that is shown by some children, that she guessed that the lady in the red dress was Mr. Leopold's girl, and that the blind lady in the blue dress was Mr. Quincy's. After a light supper they again gathered in the parlor and an hour was devoted to music. Leopold neither played nor sang, but he was an attentive and critical listener. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and Leopold asked Rosa if she would not like to take a walk up on the Clifif. She readily consented, but Alice pleasantly declined Quincy's invitation to accompany them, and for the first time since the old days at Mason's Corner, he and she were alone to- gether. They talked of Eastborough and Mason's Corner and Aunt Ella for a while. Then conversation laggedl and they sat for a time in a satisfied, peaceful silence. Suddenly Quincy spoke. "I had almost forgotten. Miss Pettengill, I bought a new song yesterday morning, and I brought it with me. If you have no objection I will try it over." "I always enjoy your singing," she replied. He ran down stairs and soon returned with the music. He seated himself at the piano and played the piece through with great expression. "It is a beautiful melody," remarked Alice. "What is it?" "It is a German song," replied Quincy, "by Reichardt. It is called 'Love's Request.' I will sing it this time." And he did sing it with all the force and fervor of a noble, manly nature, speaking out his love covertly in the words of another, but hoping in his heart that the beautiful THE BIED OF LOVE. 423 girl who listened to him would forget the author and think only of the singer. How many times young lovers have tried this artful trick, and in what proportion it has been successful only Heaven knows. "The words are very pretty, are they not?" said Alice. "I was listening so closely to the melody that I did not catch them all." "I will read them to you," rejoined Quincy, and going to the window, where the light was still bright enough, he read the words of the song in a low, impassioned voice: '^ow the day is slowly waning. Evening breezes softly, softly moan; Wilt thou ne'er heed my complaining. Canst thou leave me thus alone? Stay with me, my darling, stay! And, like a dream, thy life shall pass away. Like a dream shall pass away. "Canst thou thus unmoved behold me, • Still untouched by love, by love so deep? Nay, thine arms more closely fold me, And thine eyes begin to weep! Stay with me, my darling, stay! And, like a dream, thy life shall pass away. Like a dream shall pass away. "No regret shall e'er attend thee, Ne'er shall sorrow dim thine eyes; 'Gainst the world's alarms to 'fend thee. Gladly, proudly, would I die! Stay with me, my darling, stay! And, like a dream, thy life shall pass away, Shall pass away." 424 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. As Quincy finished reading, Leopold and Rosa came sud- denly into the room. "We were not eavesdropping," explained Leopold, "but just as we were going to enter the room we heard your voice and knew that you were either reading or speaking a piece, so we waited until you had finished.'' "I was only reading the words of a new song that I brought down to Miss Pettengill," said Quincy; "she liked the melody and I thought she would appreciate it still more if she knew the words." "Exactly," said Leopoldl; "that's the reason I don't like opera, I mean the singing part. All that I can ever make out sounds like oh! ah! ow! and when I try to read the book in English and listen to the singers at the same time I am lost in a hopeless maze." The young gentlemen were soon on their way to their hotel, and the next afternoon found them again in Boston. The month of June was a busy, but very enjoyable one, for both Alice and Rosa. They were up early in the morn- ing and were at work before breakfast. They ate heartily and slept soundly. Every pleasant afternoon, when tea was over, they went riding. Tommy Gibson held the reins, and although Dolly was not yet in her teens, she knew every nook and corner, and object of interest on the island, and she took a child's delight in pointing them out, and telling the stories that she had heard about them. The books that Quincy brought on his last visit were utilized, and Miss Very made up another Hst to be sent to hrm be- fore his next visit. The proofs of three more stories Mr. Ernst sent down by mail, and after correction, they were returned to him in a similar manner. Little Dolly Gibson was impressed into service as a reader, for Rosa could not read and cor- rect at the same time, and there was no obliging Mr. Sawyer near at hand. As Huldy had said, Alice did miss him. It must be said, in all truthfulness, not so much for himself, THE BIRD OF LOVE. 425 but for the services he had rendered. As yet, Alice's heart was untouched. When Dolly Gibson showed her mother the money that Miss Very had given her, at Alice's direction, she was told to take it right back at once, but Dolly protested that she had earned it, and when her mother asked her to tell how, the child, whose memory was phenomenal, sat down and made her mother's hair stand almost on end and her blood almost run cold with her recitals of the Eight of Spades, The Exit of Mrs. Delmonnay, and He Thought He Was Dead. "They are immense," cried Dolly, "they beat all the fairy stories I ever read!" In due time another letter was sent to Mr. Sawyer, in- forming him that more books were needed, and that more chapters were ready, and on the morning of the last Sun- day in June the young ladies were awaiting the arrival of Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst. The morning had opened with a heavy shower and the sky was still overcast with angry-looking, threatening rain clouds. Within the little parlor all was bright and cheer- ful. Familiar voices were heard greeting Mrs. Gibson and the children, and men's footsteps soon sounded upon the stairs. Leopold entered first, and, advancing to Rosa, handed her a large bouquet of beautiful red roses. "Sweets to the sweet, roses to Miss Rosa," said he, as he bowed and presented them. "They are beautiful," she exclaimed. "All roses are considered so," he remarked with a smile. While this little byplay was going on, Quincy had ap- proached Alice, who, as usual, was sitting by the window, and placed in her hand a small bunch of flowers. As he did so he said in a low voice, "They are forget-me-nots. There is a German song about them, of which I remember a little," and he hummed a few measures. 426 QUINOY ADAMS SAWYER. "Oh! thank you," cried Alice, as she held the flowers before her eyes in a vain effort to see them. "The music is pretty. Can't you remember any of the words?" "Only a few," replied Quincy. Then he repeated in a low, but clear voice: "There is the sweet flower They call forget-me-not; That flower place on thy breast, And think of me." "Say, Quincy, can't you come over here and recite a lit- tle poem about roses to Miss Very, just to help me out?" cried Leopold. "All I can think of is: "The rose is red; The yiolet's blue — " "Stop where you are," said Rosa laughingly, "for that will do." Alice dropped the forget-me-nots in her lap. The illu" sion was dispelled. The newly-completed chapters were next read, and quite a spirited discussion took place in regard to the political features introduced in one of them. Dinner intervened and then the discussion was resumed. Alice maintained that to write about Aaron Burr and omit politics would be the play of "Hamlet," with Hamlet left out; and her auditors were charmed and yet some- what startled at the impassioned and eloquent manner in which she defended Burr's political principles. When she finished Leopold said, "Miss Pettengill, if you will put in your book the energetic defence that you have just made, I will withdraw my objections." "You will find that and more in the next chapter," Alice replied. THE BIRD OF LOVE. 421 And the reading was resumed. The angry, threatening clouds had massed themselves once more; the thunder roared; the lightning flashed and the rain fell in torrents. Leopold walked to the window and looked out. "Walk- ing is out of the question," said he; "will you come for a sail?" Music filled the evening, and diuring a lull in the storm the young men reached their lodgings. Another month had nearly passed. The weather was much warmer, but there was a great incentive to hard work — the book was nearly finished. Quincy had sent down a package of books soon after his return home, and Alice and Rosa had worked even harder than in June. Another letter went from Miss Very to Mr. Sawyer. It contained but a few words : "The book is done. Miss Pet- tengill herself wrote the words, 'The end,' on the last page, signed her name, and dated it 'July 30, 186 — .' She awaits your verdict." The first Sunday in August found the young ladies again expectant. Once more they sat on a Sund'ay morn- ing awaiting the advent of their gentlemen friends. The day was pleasant, but warm. Soon a voice was heard at the front door. Both ladies listened intently; but one per- son, evidently, was coming upstairs. Alice thought it must be Mr. Sawyer, while Rosa said to herself, "I think it must be Mr. Ernst." A light knock, the door was opened and Quincy entered. Rosa looked up inquiringly. "Mr. Ernst," said Quincy, "wished me to present his regrets at not being able to accompany me. The fact is he will be very busy this coming week. He is going to try to close up his work, so that he can come down next Sat- urday. He intends to take a month's vacation. I shall come with him, and we will endeavor to have a fitting cele- bration of the completion of your book, Miss Pettengill. 428 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. You young ladies look very cool and comfortable this hot day." They were both dressed in white, Alice with a sash of blue, while Rosa wore one of pink. "Then we shall have no reading till next Sunday," re- marked Rosa. "Yes," said Quincy, seating himself in one of the willow rockers; "we have decided upon the following programme, if it meets with Miss Pettengill's approval. I am to listen to the remainder of the book to-day. I will hand the com- plete manuscript over to him to-morrow afternoon. He will then finish the chapters that he has not read and. turn the work over to his firm, with his approval, before he comes down for his rest. If the work is accepted, Mr. Morton, one of the firm, will write him to that efifect." "The plan is certainly satisfactory to me," said Alice, "and Miss Very and I will be delighted to contribute our aid to the proposed celebration." Rosa then resumed her reading. But dinner time came before it was cojnpleted. At that meal they were all intro- duced to Captain Henry Marble. "My only brother," Mrs. Gibson said, by way of introduc- tion. "He's just home from a cruise. His ship is at New Bedford. He is going to take the children out late this afternoon for a sail in the harbor. He always does when he comes here. Wouldn't you ladies and Mr. Sawyer like to go with him?" Captain Marble repeated the invitation, adding that he was an old sailor, that he had a large sailboat, andl that they were "only going to Wauwinet, not out to sea, you know, but only up the inner harbor, which is just like a pond, you know." Rosa thought it would be delightful, but such a trip had no attractions for Alice, and it was finally decided that Rosa should go, while Alice and Mr. Sawyer would remain at home. THE BIEB OF LOVE, 429 The reading of the remaining chapters of -Blennerhassett was completed by three o'clock, and at quarter of four, Miss Very, attired in a natty yachting costume, which formed part of her summer outfit, was ready to accompany Captain Marble and the children on their trip. When they were alone Quincy turned to AHce and said, "I bought another song yesterday morning, which I thought you might like to hear." "Is it another German song?" asked Alice. "No," replied Quincy, as he took a roll from the piano and opened it. "It is a duet; the music is by Bosco, but you can tell nothing by that. The composer's real name may be Jones or Smith." He seated himself at the piano and played it through, as he had done with that other song two long months before. "I think it more beautiful than the other," said Alice. "Are the words as sweet as those in that other song?" "Then you have not forgotten the other one," said Quincy, earnestly. "How could I forget it?" answered Alice. "Rosa has sung it to me several times, but it did not sound' to me as it did when you sang it." "I will sing this one to you," said he; and Alice came and stood by his side at the piano. Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked for- ward so long had come at last. He could restrain the promptings of his heart no longer. He loved this woman, and she must know it; even if she rejected that love, he must tell her. "It is called 'The Bird of Love,'" he said. Then he played the prelude to the song. He sang as he had never sung before ; all the power and pathos and love that in him lay were breathed forth in the words and music of that song. With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked) up at Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look. 430 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. "Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" There was almost a command in the way he said it. His love had o'ermastered his politeness. Alice said nothing, but bowed her head. Then Quincy recitedl the words of the song. , He had no need to read them, for he knew them by heart. It seemed to him that he had written the words himself. He did not even remember the author's name, and Alice stood with bowed head and closed eyes and drank in these words as they fell from his lips: In this heart of mine the bird of love Has built a nest, Has built a nest. And so she has in mine! Response : And so she has in mine! And she toils both day and night, no thought Of food or rest Of food or rest. And sings this song divine. Response : And sings this song divine. Duet: All the day long. Such a sweet song. Teaching love true, I love ! Do you? When Quincy came to the last line, instead of reading it he turned to the piano and sang it with even more passion in his voice than at first. "Will you try it over with me?" he said. And without waiting for her reply he dashed off the prelude. Their voices rang out together until they reached the line, "And so she has in mine." As Alice sang these words she opened her eyes and looked upward. A smile of su- ' Her voice faltered . * THE BIRD OF LOVE. 431 preme joy spread over and irradiated her face. Her voice faltered; she stopped, then she caught at the piano with her right hand. She tottered and would have fallen if Quincy had not sprung up and taken her in his arms. "Is it true, Alice?" cried he; "is it so? Can you truly say, 'And so she has in mine?' " And Alice looked up at him with that glorious smile still upon her face and softly whispered, " 'And so she has in mine,' Quincy." Quincy led her to the lounge by the window, through which the cool evening breeze was blowing, and they sat down side by side. It has been truly said that the conver- sations of lovers are more appreciated by themselves than by anybody else, andl it is equally true that at the most ten- der moment, in such conversations, intensely disagreeable interruptions are likely to occur. Sometimes it is the well-meaning but unthinking father; again it is the solicitous but inquisitive mother; but more often it is the unregenerate and disrespectful young brother or sister. In this case it was Miss Rosa Very, who burst into the room, bright and rosy, after her trip upon the water. As she entered she cried out, "Oh! you don't know what you missed. I had a most delightful — ■" She stopped short, the truth flashed upon her that there were other de- lightful ways of passing the time than in a sailboat. She was in a dilemma. Quincy solved the problem. He simply said, "Good-by, Alice, for one short week." He turned, expecting to see Miss Very, but she had van- ished. He clasped Alice in his arms, and kissed her, for the first time, then he led her to her easy-chair and left her there. As he quitted the room and closed the door he met Miss Rosa Very in the entry. "I did not know," said she, "but I am so glad to know it. She is the sweetest, purest, loveliest woman I have ever 432 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. known, and your love is what she needed to complete her happiness. She will be a saint now. I will take good care of her, Mr. Sawyer, until you come again, for I love her, too." Quincy pressed her hand warmly, and the next moment was in the little street. He was a rich man, as the world judges riches, but to him his greatest treasure was Alice's first kiss, still warm upon his lips. CHAPTER XXXVI. THEN THEY WERE MARRIED. WHEN he bade Alice good-by for a week, Quincy was keeping a promise he had made to his father. The second evening before he had spent with his family at Nahant, and while he was smoking an after-dinner cigar upon the veranda, the Hon. Nathaniel had joined him. "Quincy," said the latter, "I must ask you when you intend to resume your professional duties. You are now restored to health, and it is my desire that you do so at once." "While I would not wilfully show disrespect to your wishes, father," said Quincy, calmly, "I must say frankly that I do not care to go back to the office. The study of law is repugnant to me, and its practice would be a daily martyrdom." "What!" cried the Hon. Nathaniel, starting in his chair. "Perhaps, sir, you have fixed upon a calling that is more elevated and ennobling than the law." "One more congenial, at any rate," remarked Quincy. *'Then you have chosen a profession," said his father with some eagerness. "May I inquire what it is?'' "It can hardly be called a profession," he answered. "I've bought a third interest in a country grocery store." If the Hon. Nathaniel started before, this last piece of in- formation fairly brought him to his feet. "And may I in- quire, sir," he thundered, "if this special partnership in a country grocery store is the summit of your ambitions? I suppose I shall hear next that you are engaged to some farmer's daughter, and propose to marry her, regardless 434 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. of the wishes of your family, and despite the terrible exam- ple supplied by your Uncle James." "It hasn't come to that yet," remarked Quincy, calmly, "but it may if I find a farmer's daughter who comes up to my ideal of a wife and to whom I can give an honest love.'' The Hon. Nathaniel sank back in his chair. Quincy continued, "I will not try to answer your sarcastic refer- ence to the grocery store. It is a good investment and an honorable business, fully as honorable as cheating the prison or the gallows of what is due them; but the summit of my ambition is by no means reached. I am young yet and have plenty of time to study the ground before ex- panding my career, but I will tell you, privately and confi- dentially, that my friends have asked me to run for the General Court, and I have about decided to stand as a can- didiate for nomination as representative from our district." "I am glad to hear you say that, Quincy," said his father, somewhat mollified, and he edged his arm-chair a little closer to his son, despite the hea-^y clouds of smoke emitted from Quincy's cigar. "If you get the regular nomination in our district it's tantamount to an election. I need scarcely say that whatever influence I may possess will be exerted in your favor." "Thank you," said. Quincy; "I mean to stump the dis- trict, anyway. If I lose the regular nomination I shall take an independent one. I had rather fight my way in than be pushed in." His father smiled and patted him on the arm. Then they rose from their chairs, Quincy observing that as he was going away early in the morning he would immediately retire. "That reminds me," said his father. "I have a favor to ask of you, Quincy. It is this, Lord Algernon Hastings, heir to the earldom of Sussex, and his sister. Lady Elfrida, are now in Boston, and bring letters from the Lord High Chancellor, with whom I became acquainted when I was THEN THEY WERE MARKIED. 435 in England, two years ago. I have invited them to visit us here next week, and my wish is that you will spend as much of your time at home as possible and assist me in entertaining them — I mean the son, of course, particu- larly." Quincy's thoughts flew quickly to Nantucket and back. Had he foreseen what was to happen on his coming visit, he would have hesitated still longer, but thinking that, after all, next Sunday's journey might not end any more conclusively than the previous one, he presently turned to his father and answered: "I will do so. I must go to-morrow, but I will return early on Monday, and will stay at home the entire week." "I thank you very much, Quincy," said the Hon. Nathan- iel, and he laid his hand on his son's shoulder as affection- ately as he was capable of doing, when they entered the house. Lady Elfrida Hastings and her brother, Lord Algernon, arrived in due season, and Quincy was there to assist at their reception. The former was tall, and dark, and stately ; her features were cast in a classic mould, but the look in her eye was cold and distant, and the face, though having all the' requirements of beauty, yet lacked it. To Mrs. Sawyer and her daughter, Florence, the Lady Elfrida was a revelation, and they yearned to acquire that statuesque repose that comes so natural to the daughter of an earl. But Maude told her brother that evening that the Lady Elfrida was a "prunes and- prisms," and was sure to die an old maid. Lord Algernon was tall and finely built; he had a pro- fusion of light brown curly hair, and a pair of large blue eyes that so reminded Quincy of Alice that he took to the young lord at once. They rode, played billiards, bowled, and smoked together. One afternoon while they were enjoying a sail in the bay, Quincy inquired of his guest how he liked America, 436 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTEK. " 'Pon honor, my dear fellow, I don't know," replied Lord Algernon. "I came here for a certain purpose, and have failed) miserably. I am going to sail for home in a week, if my sister will go." "Then you didn't come to enjoy the pleasures of travel?" remarked Quincy, interrogatively. "No! By Jove, I didn't. My sister did, and she supposes I did. I'm going to tell you the truth, Mr, Sawyer. I know you will respect my confidence." Quincy nodded. "The fact is," Lord Algernon continued, "I came over here to find a girl that I'm in love with, but who ran away from me as soon as I told her of it." "But why?" asked Quincy, not knowing what else to say. "That's the deuce of it," replied Lord Algernon; "I sha'n't know till I find her and ask her. I met her at Nice, in France; she was with her mother, a Mdtae. Archim- bault; the daughter's name was Celeste — 'Celeste Archim- bault. They said they were not French, they were French Canadians; came from America, you know. I was travel- ing as plain Algernon Hastings, and I don't think she ever suspected I was the son of an earl. I proposed one even- ing. She said she must speak to her mother, and if I would come the next evening about seven o'clock, she would give me her answer, and I thought by the look in her eye that she herself was willing to say 'Yes' then. But when I called the next evening they had both gone, no one knew where.'' "You are sure she was not an adventuress?" inquired Quincy. "Excuse the question; my lord, but you really knew nothing about her?" "I knew that I loved her," said Lord Algernon, bluntly, "and I would give half of my fortune to find her. I know she was a true, pure, beautiful girl, and her mother was as honest an old lady as you could find in the world." "I wish I could help you," remarked Quincy. "Thank you," said Lord Algernon; "perhaps you may be able to. some day. Don't forget her name. Celeste Archim- THEN THEY WERE MAEEIED. 437 bault; she is slight in figure, graceful in her carriage, lady- like in her manners. She has dark hair, large, dreamy- black eyes, with a hidden sorrow in them; in fact, a very handsome brunette. Here is my card, Mr. Sawyer. I will write my London address on it, and if you ever hear of her, cable me at once and I'll take the next steamer for America." Quincy said that he would, and put the card in his card- case. He excused himself to Lord Algernon and his sister that evening; a prior engagement made it necessary for him to leave for Boston early next morning, and the farewells were then spoken. Lord Algernon's last words to Quincy were whispered in his ear, "Don't forget her name — Celeste Archimbault!'' The next Sunday morning Quincy and Leopold, as they approached Mrs, Gibson's house on the Clifif, found Rosa Very standing at the little gate. She had on the white dress that she had worn the Sunday before, but which Leo- pold had not seen. Upon her head was a wide-brimmed straw hat, decked with ribbons and flowers, which intensi- fied the darkness of her hair and eyes." "Don't forget her name — Celeste Archimbault," came into Quincy's mind, but he said, "Nonsense," to himself, and dismissed the thought. "All ready for a walk on the Clifif?" asked Leopold, as he raised his hat and extended his hand to Rosa. She shook hands with him and then with Quincy. She opened the little gate, placed her hand on Leopold's arm and they walked on up the Qiff Road. As Quincy entered the little parlor, Alice sprang toward him with a cry of joy. He caught her in his arms, and this time one kiss did not suffice, for a dozen were pressed on hair and brow and cheek and lips. "It is so long since you went away," said Alice. "Only one short week," replied Quincy. 438 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. "Short! Those six days have seemed longer than all the time we were together at Eastborough. I cannot let you go away from me again," she cried. "Stay with Me, My Darling, Stay," sang Quincy, in a low voice, and Alice tried to hide her blushing face upon Ks shoulder. Then they sat down and talked the matter over. "I must leave you," said Quincy, "and only see you occasion- ally, and then usually in the presence of others, unless — " "Unless what?'' cried Alice, and a sort of frightened look came into her face. "Unless you marry me at once," said Quincy. "I don't mean this minute ; say Wednesday of this coming week. I have a license with me I get in Boston yesterday morning. We'll be married quietly in this little room, in which you first told me that you loved me. We could be married in" a big church in Boston, with 'bridesmaids, and groomsmen, and music on a big organ. We could make as big a day of it as they did down to Eastborough." "Oh, no!'' said Alice; "I could not go through that. I cannot see well enough, and I might make some terrible blunder. I might trip and fall, and then I should be so nervous and ashamed." "I will not ask you to go through such an ordeal, my dearest. I know that we could have all these grand things, and for that reason, if for no better one, I'm perfectly will- ing to go without them. No, Alice, we will be married here in this room. We will deck it with flowers,'' continued Quincy. "Leopold will go to Boston to-morrow and get them. Rosamond's Bower was not sweeter nor more lovely than we will make this little room. I will get an old clergy- man; I don't like young ones; Leopold shall be my best man and Rosa shall be your bridesmaid. Mrs. Gibson and her brother, who I see is still here, shall be our witnesses, and we will have Tommy and Dolly for ushers." Both laughed aloud in their childish glee at the picture THEN THEY WERE MARRIED. 439 that Quincy had painted. "I could ask for nothing better," said Alice; "the ceremony will be modest, artistic, and idyllic." "And economical, too," Quincy added with a laugh. And so it came to pass! They were married, and the transformation in the Httle room, that Quincy and Alice had seen in their mind's eye, was reaHzed to the letter. Flowers, best man, bridesmaid, witnesses, ushers, and the aged clergyman, with whitened locks, who called them his children, and blessed them and wished them long life and happiness, hoped 'that they would meet and know each other some day in the infinite — all were there. This was on Wednesday. On Thursday came a letter from Aunt Ella. It contained the most kindly congratula- tions, and a neat little wedding present of a check for fifty thousand dollars. She wrote further that she was lonesome and wanted somebody to read to her, and talk to her, and sing to her. If the book was done, would not Miss Very come to spend the remainder of the season with her, and if Mr. Ernst was there could he not spare time to escort Miss Very. That same evening Leopold received a letter from Mr. Morton. It simply read, "Blennerhassett accepted; will be put in type at once and issued by the first of November, perhaps sooner." The next morning Leopold and Rosa started for Old Orchard, and the lovers were left alone to pass their honey- moon, with the blue sea about them, the blue sky above them, and a love within their hearts which grew stronger day by day. CHAPTER XXXVII. LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. FOR Quincy and Alice, day after day, and week after week, found them in a state of complete happiness. The little island floating in the azure sea was their world, and for the time, no thought of any other intruded upon their delightful Eden. It seemed to Quincy all a blissful dteam of love, and everything he looked upon was wreathed in flowers and golden sunshine. But lotus land is not so far distant from the abodes of mortal man but that his emissaries may reach it. The first jarring note in the sweet harmony of their married life came in the form of a letter from Dr. Culver, who wrote to remind Quincy that it would soon be time to start in ploughing the political field. Quincy's reply was brief and to the point. "My Dear Culver: — I will see you in Boston on the tenth of September. . Q. A. S." When Aunt Ella learned that her nephew was going to town, she made hurried preparations for her departure from Old Orchard, and wrote to him insisting that he and Alice should come and stay with her. This invitation they gladly accepted, Quincy arranging in his mind to explain matters to his family by saying that, as he had now entered politics and would necessarily have a great many callers to enter- tain, he thought it best to make his headquarters with Aunt Ella until the campaign was over. Accordingly, the ninth of September saw them located at Mt. Vernon Street. On the very day of their arrival, LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT, 441 proof of the remaining stories and a large instalment of Blennerhassett reached them, with a note from Ernst: "Please rush. Press is waiting." Miss Very's assistance was now absolutely necessary, but when Quincy asked Leopold for her address, he was surprised at the reply he received. "I haven't seen her," said Leopold, "since we came back from Old Orchard together. In fact, since that time, our relations, for some reason or other, have undergone a great change. However, I think I can help you out. I don't believe in keeping a good friend like you, Quincy, in sus- pense, so I will tell you the truth. I am married. My wife is fully as competent to assist Mrs. Sawyer as Miss Very would have been. She is in the library now at work. I will go and ask her." He entered the room, closing the door behind him. Quincy threw himself rather discontentedly into a chair. He fancied he heard laughing in the next room, but he knew Alice would be disappointed, and he himself felt in no mood for laughter. Leopold opened the library door. "Quincy, I've induced her to undertake the task," he said. "Do spare a moment from your work, Mrs. Ernst; I wish to introduce to you Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer, the husband of the author of that coming literary sensation, Blennerhassett. Mr. Saw- yer," he continued, "allow me to present you to my wife, Mrs. Rosa Ernst." And as he said this, Leopold and Rosa stood side by side in the doorway. "When did you do it?" finally ejaculated Quincy, rushing forward and grasping each by the hand. "Leopold, I owe you one." And then they all laughed together. By some means, Dr. Culver said by the liberal use of money, Barker Dalton secured the regular nomina- tion from Quincy's party. The latter kept his word and entered the field as an independent candidate. A hot contest followed. The papers were full of the 442 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. speeches of the opposing candid'ates, and incidents con- nected with their lives. But in none relating to Quincy was a word said about his marriage, and the fact was evidently unknown, except to a limited few. When the polls closed on election day and the vote was declared, it was found that Sawyer had a plurality of two hundred and twenty-eight and a clear majority of twenty- two over both Dalton and Burke, the opposing candidates. Then the papers were full of compliments for Mr. Sawyer, who had so successfully fought corruption and bribery in his own party, and won such a glorious victory. But Quincy never knew that the Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer had used all his influence to secure his son's elec- tion, and for every dollar expended by Dalton, the Hon. Nathaniel had covered it with a two or five if necessary. The publication of Blennerhassett had been heralded by advance notices that appeared in the press during the month of October. These notices had been adroitly written. Political preju- dices, one notice said, would no doubt be aroused by state- ments made in the book, and one newspaper went so far as to publish a double-leaded editorial protesting against the revival of party animosities buried more than two gen- erations ago. The leaven worked, and when the book was placed in the stores on the eleventh of November, the de- mand for it was unparalleled. Orders came for it from all parts of the country, particularly from the State of New York, and the resources of the great publishing house of Hinckley, Morton, & Co. were taxed to the utmost to meet the demand. While Quirfcy was fighting Dalton in the political field, another campaign was being planned in the clever diplo- matic brain of Aunt Ella. It related to the introduction of Alice, the "farmer's daughter," to the proud patrician fam- ily of Sawyer, as Quincy's wife — no easy matter to accom- glish satisfactoril;^ as. all agreed. LINDA'S BERTHEIGHT. 443 The initial step was taken a couple of weeks after Thanksgiving, when a daintily-engraved card was issued from Mt. Vernon Street, which read: "Your company is respectfully requested on the evening of the tenth of December at a reception to be given to Bruce Douglas, the author of Blennerhassett," One evening, Quincy ran up the steps of the Mt. Vernon Street house. He opened the door and started to run up the stairs to his wife's room, as was his custom, when he came into collision with a young lady, who, upon closer in- spection, he found to be his sister Maude. "Come in here," she said. She grasped him by the arm, and, dragging him into the parlor, she closed the door be- hind him. "Oh, Mr. Man!" she cried, "I've found you out, but horses sha'tt"! drag it out of me. No, Quincy, you're always right, and I won't peach. But 'twas mean not to tell me." ^ Quincy looked at her in voiceless astonishment. "What do you mean, Maude, and where did you gather up all that slang?" "I might ask you," said Maude, "where you found your wile. I've been talking to her upstairs. She must have thought that papa and mamma knew all about it, for she told me who she was, just as easy. Who is she, Quincy?" He drew his sister down beside him on a sofa. "She was Miss Mary Alice Pettengill. She is now known to a Hm- ited few, of which you, sister Maude, are one, as Mrs. 'Mary Alice Sawyer; but she is known to a wide circle of readers as Bruce Douglas, the author of many popular stories, as also of that celebrated book entitled Blenner- hassett.'' "Is that so?" cried Maude; "why, papa is wild over that book. He's been reading it aloud to us evenings, and he said last night that that young man — you hear, Quincy?— 444 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. that young man, had brought the truth to the surface at last." "Kow, Maude," said Quincy, "you go right home and keep your mouth shut a little while longer, and when you are sixteen" — "the ninth of next January," broke in Maude — "I'll give you a handsome gold watch, with my picture in it." "I don't have to be paid to keep your secrets, Quincy," replied Maude a'rchly, as Quincy kissed her. "I know it, dear," said Quincy; "I'll give you the watch, not as pay, but to show my gratitude." Quincy took an early opportunity to explain to his wife his remissness in not informing his parents of his mar- riage, and disclosed to her Aunt Ella's plan. On the tenth, Mrs. Chessman's spacious parlor was thronged from nine till eleven o'clock with bright and shining lights, representing the musical, artistic, literary, and social culture of Boston. Among the guests were the Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer, his wife, and his daugh- ters, Florence and Maude. The surprise of the visitors at the discovery that Bruce Douglas was a young woman was followed by one of great pleasure at finding her beautiful and aflfable. The reception and entertainment were acknowledged on all sides to have been most successful, and a thoroughly pleased and satisfied company had spoken their farewells to author and hostess by quarter-past eleven. So, when Quincy came up Walnut Street and glanced across at his aunt's house, a little before twelve, he found the windows dark and the occupants, presumably, in their beds. As part of her plan, Quincy had been advised by Aunt Ella to stay away from the reception, to spend the night at his father's house, and to be sure and take breakfast with them, so as to hear what was said about the previous evening. LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 445 As soon as the morniog meal was over, Quincy ran quickly upstairs, seized his hand-bag, which he always kept packed, ready for an emergency, and in a very short space of time, reached Mt. Vernon Street. He found his wife and aunt in the den. The latter was reading a manuscript to Alice. As soon as the greetings were over, and a little time given to discussing the reception, Quincy asked: "Who is this Mr. Fernborough that Maude told me about this morning?" "He is an English gentleman," explained Alice, "who has come to this country to see if he can find any trace of an only daughter, who ran away from home with an Amer- ican more than thirty years ago, and who, he thinks, came to this country with her husband. His wife is dead, he is alone in the world, and he is ready to forgive her and care for her, if she needs it." "He hasn't hurried himself about it, has he?" said Quincy; "but why did he come to you?" "That's the strange part of it," Alice replied. "He said he thoughtlessly picked up a magazine at a hotel where he was staying, and his eye fell upon my story. How He Lost Both Name and Fortune. He read it, and sought me out, to ask if it were fiction, or whether it was founded on some true incident. He was quite disappointed when I told him it was entirely a work of the imagination." "Did he say what hotel?" asked Quincy. '^No," replied Alice; "but why are you so interested in a total stranger?" Then Quincy told the. story of the broken envelope — the little piece of cloth — and the name, Linda Fernborough. ^'I must find him at once," said he, "for I have an im- pression that his daughter must have been Lindy Putnam's real mother. You gave me my reward, Alice, before my quest was successful, but I gave my word to find her for 446 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. you, and I shall not consider myself fully worthy of you till that word is kept." "But what did your father and mother say?" broke in Aunt Ella. "My father took me to task," began Quincy, "for not being present at the reception, but I told him I had to see Culver on some political business. Then he remarked that I missed a very pleasant evening. He complimented Aunt Ella, here, for her skill as an entertainer, and expressed his surprise that Bruce Douglas, instead of being a young man, was a young and very beautiful woman. Yes, Aunt Ella, he actually called my wife here a very beautiful young woman.'' "That is a capital beginning!" cried Aunt Ella. "Go on, Quincy." "In order to continue the conversation, I ventured the remark that Bruce Douglas came from an ordinary country family and one not very well off; for which aspersion, I humbly ask your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer. Father replied that he thought that I must have been misinformed; that Bruce Douglas was worth fifty thousand dollars in her own right, and he added that she would become a very wealthy woman if she kept up' her literary activity." "What did sister Sarah say?" asked Aunt Ella. "Well," said Quincy, "I resolved to do something des- perate, so I asked: 'Doesn't she look countrified?' again asking your pardon. Mi's. Sawyer." "No," said mother, "she has the repose of a Lady Clara Vere de Vere, and is as correct in her speech as was the Lady Elfrida Hastings." "It will come out all right," cried Aunt Ella; and Quincy, kissing his aunt and wife, and promising tO' write or tele- graph every day, caught up his hand-bag and started forth in search of the Hon. Stuart Fernborough, M. P. When Quincy left his aunt's house he had not the slight- est idea which way would be the best to turn his footsteps. LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 447 He commenced his search, however, at the Revere House, then he tried the American House, but at neither place was Mr. Fernborough a guest. At the Quincy House the clerk was busy with a num- ber of new arrivals. He had just opened a new hotel regis- ter, and the old one lay upon the counter. Quincy took it up, and turning over the leaves, glanced up and down its pages. Suddenly he started back; then, holding the book closer to his eyes he read it again. There it was, under the date of September lo, "Mdme. Rose Archimbault and daughter." . The residence given in the proper column was "New York." Quincy kept the book open at the place where he found this entry until the clerk was at leisure. He remembered Mdme. Archimbault and daughter in a general way. He was sure that they arrived from Europe the day that they came to the hotel, and he was equally sure that they went to New York when they left. What made him positive was that he remembered asking the young lady when she wrote New York in the register if she had not just returned from Europe. She said yes, but that her home residence was in New York. Quincy thanked the clerk, and started forth again in search of the elusive Mr. Fernborough. A visit to Young's, Parker^ and the Tremont furnished no clue, and Quincy was wondering whether his search, after all, was destined to be fruitless, when he thought of a small hotel in Central Court, which led from Washington Street, a little south of Summer Street. It was noted for its English roast beef, Yorkshire mut- ton chops, and musty ale, and might be Just the sort of place that an English gentleman would put up at, provided he had been informed of its whereabouts. On his way Quincy dropped into the Marlborough, but Mr. Fernborough had not been there, and Quincy imagineS that the little hotel in Central Court was his last hope. His persistence was rewarded. Mr. Fernborough was 448 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. not oiily a guest, but he was in his room. Quincy sent up his card, and in a very short time was shown into the pres- ence of a courtly gentleman, between sixty and seventy years of age. His face was smooth shaven, and had a firm but not hard expression. His eyes, however, showed that he was weighed down by some sorrow, which the unyield- ing expression of his face indicated that he would bear in silence rather than seek sympathy from others. Quincy's story was soon told. The old gentleman lis- tened with breathless interest, and when at the close Quincy said, "What do you think?" Mr. Fernborough cried, "It must be she, my daughter's child. There are no other Femboroughs in England, and Linda has been a family name for generations. Heaven bless you, young man, for your kindly interest, and take me to my grandchild at once. She is the only tie that binds me to earth; All the others are dead and gone." The old gentleman broke down cc(mpletely, and for sev- eral minutes was unable to speak. Quincy waited until his emotion had somewhat subsided. Then he said, "I am at your service, sir; we will do our best to find her. I have a feeling that she is in New York, but not a single fact to prove it. We can take the one o'clock train, if you desire." The old gentleman began at once to prepare for the jour- ney. Quincy told him he would meet him at the hotel office, and from there he sent a note to Aunt Ella inform- ing her of his intended departure. Arriving in New York they were driven at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Quincy prevailed upon Sir Stuart to retire at once, telling him that he would prepare an ad- vertisement and have it in the next morning's issue of the "New York Herald." Quincy wrote out two advertisements and sent them by special messenger to the newspaper office. The first one LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 449 read: "Linda: important paper not destroyed, as suspected. Communicate at once with Eastborough, 'Herald' office." The second was worded as follows: "Celeste A ^t: an American friend has a message for you from me. Send your address at once to Eastborough, 'Herald' office. Algernon H." Then began the days of weary waiting; the careful ex- amination of the "Herald" each morning, to be sure that the advertisements were in, for both had been paid for a week in advance. The request for mail made every morning at the "Herald"' office received a stereotyped "no" for answer; then he vowed that he would advertise no more, but would enhst other aids in the search. On the morfiing of the eighth day Quincy stood upon the steps of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He was undecided which way to gO'. It is in such cases of absolute uncer- tainty that unseen powers should give their aid, if they ever do, for then it is most needed. He did not hear any angels' voices, but he crossed over Broadway and started up town on the right-hand side of that great thoroughfare. As he walked on he glanced at the shop windows, for they were resplendent with holiday gifts, for Christmas was only one short week away. Just beyond the corner of Broadway and Twenty-ninth Street his attention was attracted by a wax figure in a mil- liner's window. The face and golden hair reminded him of his wife, and he thought how pretty Alice would look in the hat that was upon the head of the figure. His first inclination was to go in and buy it, then he thought that it would make an unhandy package to carry with him, and besides his taste might not be appreciated. "Thinking, however, that he might return and purchase it, he glanced up at the sign. One look and he gave a sud- den start backward, coming violently in contact with a gentleman who was passing. Quincy's apology was ac- cepted and the gentleman passed on, giving his right 450 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTEK. shoulder an occasional pressure to make sure that it was not dislocated. Then Quincy took another look at the signio make sure that he had not been mistaken. On it he read, in large golden letters, "Mdme. Archimbault." It was but the work of an instant for Quincy to enter the store and approach the only attendant, who was behind the counter nearest the door. "Could I see Mdme. Archimbault?" he inquired in the politest possible manner. "Ze madame eez seeck zis morning, monsieur, mais ze Mademoiselle Celeste eez in ze boudoir.'' As she said this she pointed to a partition with windows of ground glass, which extended across the farther end of the store, evidently forming a private department for try- ing on hats and bonnets. Quincy said nothing, but tak- ing out his cardcase passed one to the attendant. The girl walked towards the boudoir, opened the door and entered. Quincy followed her, and was but a few feet from the door when it was closed. He heard a woman's voice_say, "What is it, Hortense?" And the girl's reply was distinctly audible. This is what she said, "A veezitor, mademoiselle." An instant's silence, followed by a smothered cry of as- tonishment, evidently from mademoiselle. Then ensued a short conversation, carried on in whispers. Then Hor- tense emerged from the boudoir, and facing Quincy said, "Ze mademoiselle wee! not zee you. She has no desire to continue ze acquaintance.'' As she said this she stepped behind the counter, evi- dently thinking that Quincy would accept the rebuff and depart. Instead of doing this he took a step forward, which brought him between Hortense and the door of the boudoir. Turning to the girl he said in a low tone, "There must be some mistake. I have never met Mademoiselle Archimbault. I will go in and explain the purpose of my visit." And before Hortense could prevent him, Quincy LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 451 had entered the boudoir and closed the door behind him. In the centre of the room stood a beautifully carved and inlaid table. Before it sat an elegantly-dressed woman, whose hair, artistically arranged, was of the darkest shade of brown — almost black. Her arms were crossed upon the table, her face was buried in them, and from her came a succession of convulsive sobs, that indicated she was in great physical or mental distress. Quincy felt that she knew he was there, but he did not speak. Finally she said, and there was a tone of deep suffering in her voice: "Oh! Algernon, why have you followed me? I can never, never marry you. If it had been possible I would have met you that evening, as I promised." The thought flashed' across Quincy's mind, "This is the girl that ran away from Lord Hastings. But why did she call me Algernon?" Then he spoke for the first time. "Mademoiselle, there is some misunderstanding; my name is not Algernon. I am not Lord Hastings." As he spoke he looked at the woman seated at the table. She looked up; there was an instantaneous, mutual recog- nition. In her astonishment she cried out, "Mr. Sawyer!" As these words fell from her lips, Quincy said to himself, "Thank God! she's found at last." But the only words that he s-poke aloud were, "Lindy Putnam!'' "Why do I find you here," asked Quincy, "and under this name? Why have you not answered my advertise- ments in the 'Herald?'" And .he sank into a chair on the other side of the little table. The revulsion of feeling was so great at his double dis- covery that he came nearer being unmanned than ever be- fore in his life. "How did you come by this card!" asked Mademoiselle Archimbault in a broken voice. "When you have ex- plained, I will answer your questions." ^uincx took the card from her hand and glanced at it. 452 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. "What a big blunder I made and yet what a fortunate one," cried he, for he now saw that he had sent in Lord Hast- ings's card bearing the London address. "Lord Hastings himself gave it to me," he continued. "He was a guest at my father's cottage at Nahant last summer. He came to America and spent three months vainly searching for you. He loves you devotedly, and' made me promise that if I ever found you I would cable at once to the address on that card, and he said he would come to America on the next steamer. Of course when I made that promise I did not know that Lindy Putnam and Celeste Archimbault were one and the same person." "But knowing it as you now do, Mr. Sawyer, you will not send him any word. Give me your solemn promise you will not. I cannot marry him. You know I cannot. There is no Lindy Putnam, and Celeste Archimbault has no right to the name she bears." "Did you come to New York when you left Eastborough, as you promised you would?" inquired Quincy. "No, I did not, Mr. Sawyer," said she. "Forgive me, but I could not. I was distracted, almost heartbroken when I reached Boston the day she died. She had robbed me of all hope of ever finding my relatives, and but for my hatred of her I believe I would have had brain fever. One thing I could not do, I would not do. I would not remain in America. I was rich, I would travel and try to drown my sorrow and my hatred. I did not go to a hotel, for I did not wish any one to find me. What good could it do? I looked in the 'Transcript' and found a boarding place. There I met Mdme. Archimbault, a widow, a French-Canadian lady, who had come to Boston in search of a niece who had left her home in Canada some five years before. Mdme. Archimbault had spent all the money she had in her imavailinrg search for her relative, and she told me, with tears in her eyes and expressive French gestures, that she would- have to sell her jewelry to pay her board, LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 453 as she had no way of making a living in a foreign land. Then I told her part of my story. She was sure her niece was dead, and so I asked her to be my mother, to let me take her name and be known as her daughter. I told her I was rich and that I would care for her as long as our com- pact was kept and the real truth not known. My visit to Nice and my meeting with Algernon Hastings, he has no doubt told you. I did not know he was a lord, but I sus- pecte3 it. So much the more reason why he should not marry a nameless waif, a poor girl with no father or mother and all hope lost of ever finding them. I came back to America with Mdme. Archimbault, covering my tracks by cross journeys and waits which he could not anticipate. We landed in Boston." "I found your names in the Quincy House register," re- marked Quincy. "I don't think I could escape from you as easily as-I did from him," she said, the first faint sign of a smile showing itself upon her face. "I went to my bankers in Boston and told them that I had been adopted by a wealthy French lady named Archimbault. I informed them that we were going to return to France at once. They made up my ac- count, and I found I was worth nearly one hundred and forty thousand dollars. I took my fortune in New York drafts, explaining that madame wished to visit relatives in New York, and that we should sail for France from that port. I did this so my bankers could not disclose my whereabouts to any one. We came here, but I could not remain idle. I always had a natural taste for millinery work, so I proposed to madame that we should open a store under her name. We did this late in September, and have had great success since our opening day. Now you know all about me, Mr. Sawyer. Give me your prom- ise that you will not tell Lord Hastings where I am." "Then," said Quincy, "you do not know why I am here." 454 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. ^'To keep your word to Lord Hastings, I presume. iWhat other reason could you have?" "Then you have not read the Personal Column in the 'New York Herald?'" Quincy inquired. "No," said she. "Why should I?" Quincy took a copy of the paper from his pocket, laid it upon the table and pointed with his finger to the word "Linda." She read the advertisement, then looked up to him with distended eyes, full of questioning. "What does the paper say? It could not have disclosed much or you would not have waited so long to tell me." Then Quincy related the story of the sealed package, how it had been given to Alice Pettengill long before Mrs. Putnam died; how Miss Pettengill had sworn to destroy it, but would not when she learned that it might possibly con- tain information relating to her parents. He told her that Miss Pettengill would not allow any one to read it but her- self; ^nd how he had promised to search for her until he found her. Then he related the incident at the lawyer's office and the piece of cloth bearing tbe name, "Linda Fern- borough," "which," said Quincy, "I think must have been your mother's maiden name." He did not tell her of the old gentleman only five blocks away, ready and willing to claim her as his granddaughter without further proof than that little piece of oloth. Quincy looked at his watch. "I have just time," said he, "to get the one o'clock train for Boston. I will obtain the papers to-morrow morning, and be in New York again to-morrow night. The next morning early I will be at your residence with the papers, and let us hope that they will contain such information as will disclose your parent- age and give you a name that you can rightfully bear." Sbe wrote ■ her home address on a card and passed it to him. He gave her hand a quick, firm pressure and left the store, not even glancing at Hortense, who gazed at him LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 455 witli wonderment. He hailed a hack and was driven to the hotel. He found Sir Stuart and told him that he had found his supposed granddaughter, but that he must wait until he returned from Boston with the papers, that his wife's feehngs must be respected, and that the document could only be opened and read by the person who had been known to her as Lindy Putnam. Quincy reached Mt. Vernon Street about eight o'clock that evening. His wife and aunt listened eagerly to the graphic recital of his search. He pictured the somewhat sensational episode in the boudoir in the most expressive language, and Alice remarked that Quincy was fast gather- ing the materials for a most exciting romance ; while Aunt Ella declared that the disclosure of the dual personality of Linda and Celeste would form' a most striking theatrical tableau. Aunt Ella informed him that she had been requested by Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer to extend an invi- tation to Miss Bruce Douglas to dine with them on any day that might be convenient for her. "I was included in the invitation, of course," Aunt Ella added. "What day had we better fix, Quincy?" she inquired. "Make it Christmas," replied Quincy. "Tell them Miss Bruce Douglas has invitations for every other day but that for a month to come. What a precious gift I shall present to my father," said he, caressing his wife, who laid her fair head upon his shoulder. "Do you think he will be pleased?" asked Alice. "I don't know which will please him most," replied Quincy, "the fact that such a talented addition has been made to the family, or the knowledge, whicli will surely surprise him, that his son was smart enough to win such a prize." The next morning Quincy arose early and was at Curtis Carter's office as soon as it was opened. Alice had signed an order for the delivery of the package to him and he pre- 456 QUINCT ADAMS SAWTER. sented it to Mr. Carter's clerk, to whom he was well known. The ponderous doors of the big safe were thrown open and the precious document was produced. When the clerk passed the package to him and took Alice's order therefor, Quincy noticed that a five-dollar bill was pinned to the en- velope; a card was also attached to the bill, upon which was written: "This money belongs to Mr. Quincy Sawyer; he dropped it the last time he was in the ofifice." Quincy would not trust the package to his hand-bag, but placed it in an inside pocket of his coat, which he tightly buttoned. After leaving the lawyer's office he dropped into Grodjinski's, and purchased a box of fine cigars. He had the clerk tack one of his cards on the top of the box. On this he wrote: ' "My Dear Curtis: — Keep the ashes for me; they make good tooth powder. Quincy." The box was then done up and addressed to Curtis Car- ter, Esq., the clerk promising to have it delivered at once. Quincy had found a letter at his aunt's from Mr. Strout, asking him to buy a line of fancy groceries and confec- tionery for Christmas trade, and it was noon before he had attended to the matter to his complete satisfaction. A hasty lunch and he was once more on his way to New York, and during the trip his hand sought the inside pocket of his coat a score of times, that he might feel assured that the precious document was still there. Arriving, Quincy proceeded at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Sir Stuart was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and - his first question was, "Have you the papers?" Quincy took the package from his pocket and placed it on the table before him, remarking as he did so, "It must not be opened until to-morrow morning, and then by the young lady herself." The old man pushed the package away from him and LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 457 turned a stern face toward Quincy. "I yield obedience," said he, "to your wife's command, but if one man or two stood now between me and my darling's child, I would have their lives, if they tried to keep her from my arms for one instant even." After a little reflection he ai5ologized for his vehement language, and sought his room to think, and hope, and wait — but not to sleep. The next morning, a little before nine o'clock, a carriage containing two gentlemen stopped before a modest brick dwelling in West Forty-first Street. A servant admitted them' and showed them into the little parlor. The room was empty. Quincy pointed to a sofa at the farther end of the room, and Sir Stuart took a seat thereon. Quincy stepped into the entry and greeted Celeste, who was just descending the stairs. "Sir Stuart Fernborough is in your parlor," said he; "he may be, and I hope to Heaven he is, your grandfather, but you must control your feelings until you know the truth. Come and sit by me, near the window, and read what is written in 'this package, so loud that he can hear every word." As he said this he placed the package, which might or might not prove her honorable heritage, in her hands. They entered the room and took seats near the window. Celeste opened the package with trembhng fingers. As she did so 'that Httle telltale piece of cloth, bearing the name 'TLinda Fernborough," once more fell upon the floor. Quincy picked it up, and held it during the reading of the letter, for a letter it proved' to be. It had no envelope, but was folded in the old-fashioned way, so as to leave a blank space on the back of the last sheet for the address. The address was, "Mr. Silas Put- nam, Hanover, New Hampshire." Celeste began to read in a clear voice: "Dear brother Silas." "Is there no date?" asked Quincy. 458 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. "Oh, yes," replied Celeste, "March i8, 183—." ^'Thirty years ago," said Quincy. Celeste read on: "Dear Brother Silas: — ^You will, no doubt, be surprised to find I am in this town when I usually go to Gloucester or' Boston, but the truth is I had a strange adventure dur- ing my last fishing trip on the Polly Sanders, and I thought I would come into port as close to you as I could. About ten days ago I had a good catch on the Banks and sailed for home, bound for Boston. A heavy fog came up, and we lay to for more than twenty-four hours. During the night, heard cries, and my mate, Jim, Brown, stuck to it that some ship must have run ashore; and he was right, for when the fog lifted we saw the masts of a three-master sticking out of water, close on shore, and about a mile from where we lay. We up sail and ran down as close as we dared to see if there was anybody living on the wreck. We couldn't see anybody, but I sent out Jim Brown with a boat to make a thorough search. In about an hour he came back, bringing a half-drowned woman and just the nicest, chubbiest, little black-eyed girl baby that you ever saw in your life. Jim said the woman was lashed to a spar, and when he first saw her, there was a man in the water swimming and trying to push the spar towards the land, but before he reached him the man sunk and he didn't get another sight of him." "Oh, my poor father!" cried Celeste. The letter dropped from her hands and the tears rushed into her eyes. "Shall I finish reading it?" asked Quincy, picking up the letter. Celeste nodded, and he read on: "I gave the woman some brandy and she came to long enough to tell me who she was. She said her name was LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 459 Linda Chester or Chessman, I couldn't tell just which. Her husband's name was Charles, and he was an artist. He had a brother in Boston named Robert, and they were on their way to that city. The wrecked slaip was the Cana- dian Belle, bound from Liverpool to Boston. I didn't tell her her husband was drowned. I gave her some more brandy and she came to again and said her husband left a lot of pictures in London with Roper & Son, on Ludgate Hill. I asked her where she came from and she said from Heathfield, in Sussex. She said no more and we couldn't bring her to again. She died in about an hour and we bur- ied her at sea. I noticed that her nightdress had a name stamped on it dififerent from what she gave me, and so I cut it out and send it in this letter. Now, I've heard you and Heppy say that if you could find a nice little girl baby that you would adopt her and bring her up. I sold out my cargo at Portland, and so I've put in here, and I'll stay till you and Heppy have time to drive down here and make up your minds whether you'll take this handsome little baby ofif my hands. Come right along, quick, for I must be off to the Banks again soon. From your brother, Obed Putnam, Captain of the Polly Sanders. "Portsmouth Harbor; N. H. "P. S. The baby was a year old the eighth of last Jan- uary. Its name is Linda Fernborough Chessman." The tears had welled up again in the young girl's eyes, when Quincy read of the death of her mother and her burial at sea. His own hand trembled perceptibly when he realized that the young woman before him, though not his cousin, was yet connected by indisputable ties of rela- tionship to his own aunt, Mrs. Ella Chessman. Following his usual habit of reticence he kept silence, thinking that it 480 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. would be inappropriate to detract in any way from the happy reunion of grandfather and granddaughter. Sir Stuart had scarcely moved during the reading of the letter. He had sat with his right hand covering his eyes, but yet evidently listening attentively to each word as it fell from the reader's lips. As Quincy folded up the letter and passed it back to Linda, Sir Stuart arose and came for- ward to the front part of the room. Quincy took Linda's hand and led her towards Mr. Fernboroagh. Then he said, "Sir Stuart, I think this letter proves conclusively that this young lady's real name is Linda Fernborough Chess- man. I knew personally Mr. Silas Putnam, mentioned in the letter, and scores of others can bear testimony that she has lived nearly all her life with this Silas Putnam, and has been known to all as his adopted daughter. There is no doubt but that the Linda Fernborough who was buried at sea was her mother. If you are satisfied that Mrs. Charles Chessman was your daughter, it follows that this young lady must be your granddaughter." "There is no doubt of it in my mind," said Sir Stuart, taking both of Lindia's hands in his. "I live at Fernbor- ough Hall, which is located in Heathfield, in the county of Sussex. But, my dear, I did not know until to-day that my poor daughter had a child, and it will take me just a little time to get accustomed to the fact. Old men's brains do not act as quickly as my young friend's here." As he said this he looked towards Quincy. "But I am sure that we both of us owe to him a debt of gratitude that it will be difficult for us ever to repay." The old gentleman drew Linda towards him and folded her tenderly in his arms. "Come, rest here, my dear one,'' said he; "your doubts and hopes, your troubles and trials, and your wanderings are over." He kissed her on the fore- head, and Linda put her arms about his neck and laid her head upon liis breast. "You are the only one united to me by near ties of blood LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 461 in the world," Sir Stuart continued, and he laid his hand on Linda's head and turned her face towards him. "You have your mother's eyes,'' he said. "We will go back to England, and Fernborough Hall will have a mistress once more. You are English born, and have a right to sit in that seat which might have been your mother's but for the pride and prejudice which thirty years ago ruled both your grandmother and myself." Leaving them to talk over future plans, Quincy went back to the hotel and wrote two letters. The first was addressed to Lord Algernon Hastings in London. The other was a brief note to Aunt Ella, informing her that a party of four would start for Boston on the morning train and that she might expect them about four o'clock in the afternoon. It lacked but five minutes of that hour when a carriage, containing the party from New York, stopped before the Mt. Vernon Street house. It suited Quincy's purpose that his companions should first meet his wife, although the fact that she was his wife was as yet unknown to them. The meeting between Alice and Linda was friendly, but not effusive. They had been ordinary acquaintances in the old days at Eastborough, but now a mutual satisfaction and pleasure drew them more closely together. "I have come," said Linda, "to thank you, Miss Petten- gill, for your kindness and justice to me. Few women would have disregardted the solemn oath that Mrs. Putnam forced you to take, but by doing so you have given me a lawful name and a life of happiness for the future. May every blessing that Heaven can send to you be yours.'' "All the credit should not be given to me,'' replied Alice. "The morning after Mrs. Putnam's death I was undecided in my mind which course to follow, whether to destroy the paper or to keep it. It was a few words from my Uncle Isaac that enabled 'me to decide the matter. He told me that a promise made to the dead should not be carried out 462 QUINCY ADAMS SAWTBE. if it interfered with the just rights of the Uving, So I decided to keep the paper, but how? It was then that Mr. Sawyer came to the rescue and pointed out to me the line of action, which I am truly happy to learn has ended so pleasantly." "Grandpa and I have both thanked Mr. Sawyer so much," said Linda, "that he will not listen to us any more, but I will write to Uncle Ike, for I used to call him by that name, and show him that I am not ungrateful. I have lost all my politeness, I am so happy," continued Linda; "I believe you have met grandpa.'' Sir Stuart came forward, and, in courtly but concise lan- guage, expressed his sincere appreciation of the kind ser- vice that Miss Pettengill had rendered his granddaughter. Then Linda introduced Mdtne. Archimbault as one who had been a true friend and almost a mother to her in the hours of her deepest sorrow and distress. "Now, my friends," said Quincy, "I have a little surprise for you myself. I believe it my duty to state the situation frankly to you. My father is a very wealthy man — a mil- lionaire. He is proud of his wealth and still more proud of the honored names of Quincy and Adams, which he con- ferred upon me. Like all such fathers and mothers, my parents have undoubtedly had bright dreams as to the fu- ture of their only son. One of their dreams has, no doubt, been my marriage to some young lady of honored name and great wealth. In such a matter, however, my own mind must decide. I have acted without their knowledge, as I resolved to deprive them of the pleasure of my wife's ac- quaintance until Christmas day." Stepping up to Alice, Quincy took her hand and led her forward, facing their guests. "I take great pleasure, my friends, in introducing to you my wife, Mrs. Quincy Adams Sawyer." There came an exclamation of pleased surprise from Linda, followed by congratulations from all, and while LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 463 these were being extended, Aunt Ella entered the room. She advanced to meet Sir Stuart, who had been present at Alice's reception, Qudncy introduced Mdme. Archimbault, and then Aunt Ella turned towards Linda. "This is the young lady, I believe," said she, "who has just found a long-lost relative, or rather, has been found by him. You must be very happy, my dear, and it makes me very happy to know that my nephew and niece, who are so dear to me, have been instrumental in bringing this pleasure to you. But have you been able to learn your mother's name? Quincy did not mention that in his letter." "Yes," said Quincy, stepping forward, "the letter con- tained that information, but I thought I would rather tell you about it than write it. My dear aunt, allow me to in- troduce to you Miss Linda Fernborough Chessman." "What!" cried Aunt Ella, starting back in astonishment. "Listen to me, Aunt Ella;'' and taking her hand in his he drew her towards him. "Your husband had a brother, -Charles Chessman; he was an artist and lived in England; while there he married; he wrote your husband some thirty years ago that he was going to return to America, but Uncle Robert, you told me, never heard from him again after receiving the letter." "Yes, yes!" assented Aunt Ella; "I have the letter. But what is the mystery, Quincy? You know I can bear any- thing but suspense." "There is no mystery, auntie, now; it is all cleared up. Uncle Robert's brother Charles married Linda Fernbor- ough, Sir Stuart's daughter. The vessel in which father, mother, and child sailed for America was wrecked. Father and mother were lost, but the child was rescued. This is the child. Aunt Ella, Linda Chessman is your niece, but unfortunately I am unable to call her cousin." Aunt Ella embraced Linda and talked to her as a mother might talk to her daughter. Her delight at finding this relative of the husband whom she had loved so well and 464 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYER. mourned so sincerely, showed itself in face, and voice, and action. Her hospitality knew no bounds. Linda must stay with her a month at least, so must Sir Stuart and Mdme. Archimbault. It was the hoHday season, and they must all feast and be merry over this happy, unexpected return. It was a joyous party that gathered in the dining-room at Aunt Ella's house that evening. She said that such an occa- sion could not be fitly celebrated with plain cold water, so a 'bottle of choice old port was served to Sir Stuart, and toasts to Mrs. Sawyer and Miss Chessman were drunk from glasses filled with foaming champagne. Then all adjourned to Aunt Ella's room and Uncle Robert's prime cigars were offered to Sir Stuart and Quincy. But Aunt Ella had too much to say to think of her cigarette. For an hour conversation was general; everybody took part in it. The events of the past year, which were of so great interest tO' all present, were gone over, and when conversation lagged it was because every- body knew everything that everybody else knew. Quincy spent that night at his father's house. The next morning his mother told him that the author had selected Christmas day on which to be received by them at dinner, and that she was making unusual preparations for that event. "I wish I could invite a few friends to meet her that day," said Quincy. "You may invite as many as you choose, Quincy, if you will promise to be here yourself. You have been away from home so much the past year I hardly anticipate the pleasure of your company on that day." "Have no fear, mother,'' Quincy said. "I wish very much to meet the author that father and you are so greatly pleased with. Of course Aunt Ella is coming?" ""Certainly," answered his mother. "I understand that the author has been stopping with her since the reception." LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 485 "I shall invite five friends," said Quincy, "and you may depend upon me." To his mother's surprise he gave her a slight embrace, a light kiss upon her cheek, and was gone. The sun showed its cheerful face on Christmas morning. The snow that fell a fortnight previous had been washed away by continued heavy rains. A cold wind, biting, but healthful, quickened the pulse and brought roses to the cheeks of holiday pedestrians. The programme for the meals on Christmas day had been arranged by Mrs. Sawyer as follows: Breakfast at nine, dinner at one, and' a light supper at six. It had al- ways been the rule in the Sawyer family to exchange Christ- mas gifts at the breakfast hour. Quincy was present, and his father, mother, and sisters thanked him for the valuable presents that bore his card. Father, mother, and sisters, on their part, had not forgotten Quincy, and the reunited family had the most enjoyable time that they had experi- enced for a year. As Quincy rose to leave the table, he said to his mother, "I have another gift for father and you, but it has not yet arrived. I am going to see about it this morning." "You will be sure to come to dinner, Quincy," fell from his mother's lips. "I promise you, mcfther," he replied. "I would not miss it for anything." A little after noontime, the Chessman carriage arrived at the Beacon Street mansion of the Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer, and a moment later Mrs. Ella Chessman and the young author, Bruce Douglas, were ushered into the spacious and elegant parlor. They were received by Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer and their daughter Florence. Twenty minutes later a carriage arrived before the same mansion. Its occupants were Sir Stuart Fernborough, his granddaughter, and Mdme. Archimbault. A few minutes later Mr. and Mrs. Leopold Ernst appeared, having walked 466 QUINCT ABAMS SAWYER. the short distance from their rooms on Qiestnut Street. The new arrivals were presented to Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer by Mrs. Chessman, and a pleasant ante-prandial conversa- tion was soon under way. From behind the curtains of a second-story window of the mansion, a young miss had watched the arrival and de- parture of the carriages. As the second one drove away she exclaimed, "Oh! what a lark! Those last folks came in Aunt Ella's carriage, too. I bet Quincy and auntie have put up some sort of a game on pa and ma. I won't go down stairs till Quincy comes, for I want to give my new sister a hug and a squeeze and a kiss, and I sha'n't dare to do it till Quincy has introduced her to pa and ma." At that moment the young man, faultlessly attired, came down stairs from the third story, and Maude sprang out from her doorway on the second floor and said in a whis- per, "How long have you been home, Quincy?" "I came in about half-past eleven," he replied. "OH, you rogue," cried Maude. "I have been watching out the window for an hour. I see it all now, you don't mean to give pa and ma a chance to say boo until after dinner. Let me go down first, Quincy." Maude went down stairs and was duly presented to the assembled guests as the youngest scion of the house of Sawyer. At exactly five minutes of one Quincy entered the parlor through the rear door. Aunt Ella and AHce were seated side by side between the two front windows. As Quincy advanced he exchanged the compliments of the season with the guests. Finally the Hon. Nathaniel and his son Quincy stood facing Aunt Ella and Alice. "Quincy," said his father, in slow, measured tones, "it gives me great pleasure to present you to the celebrated young author, Bruce Douglas." Quincy bent low, and Alice inclined her head in acknowl- edgment. He reached forward, clasped her hand in his and LINDA'S BIRTHRIGHT. 467 took his place by her side. "Father, mother, and sisters," he cried, and there was a proud tone in his clear, ringing voice, "there is still another presentation to be made — that Christmas gift of which I spoke this morning at breakfast. You see I bold this lady by the hand, which proves that we are friends and not strangers. To her friends in the town of Eastborough, where she was born, the daughter of an honest farmer, who made a frugal living and no more, she was known by the name of Mary Ahce Pettengill. To the story and book-reading public of the United States, she is known as Bruce Douglas, but to me she is known by the sacred name of wife. I present to you as a Christmas gift, a daughter and a sister." There was a moment of suspense, and all eyes were fixed upon the parents so dramatically apprised of their son's marriage. The Hon. Nathaniel cleared his throat, and ad- vancing slowly, took Alice's hand in his and said, "It gives me great pleasure to welcome as a daughter one so highly favored by nature with intellectual powers and such marked endowments for a famous literary career. I am confident that the reputation of our family will gain rather than lose by such an alliance.'' "He 'thinks her books are going to sell," remarked Leo- pold to his wife. Mrs. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer took Alice's hand in hers and kissed her upon the cheek. "You will always be wel- come, my daughter, at our home. I know we shall learn to love you in time.'' It was Florence's turn now. Like her mother, she took her new sister's hand and gave her a society kiss on the cheek. Then she spoke: "As mother said, I know I shall learn to love you, sister, in time." A slight form dashed through the front parlor dtoor, and throwing her arms about Alice's neck, gave her a hearty kiss upon the lips. "My sweet sister, Alice, I love you now, and I always shall love you, and I think my brother Quincy 468 QUINCT ADAMS SAWYEK. is just the luckiest man in the world to get such a nice wife." Then abashed at her own vehemance, she got behind Aunt Ella, who said to herself, "Maude has got some heart." Dinner was announced. The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer ofifered his arm to Mrs. Quincy Adams Sawyer, and they led the holiday procession. Sir Stuart Fernbor- ough, M. P., escorted Mrs. Sarah Quincy Sawyer; next came Mr. Leopold Ernst and Miss Linda Fernborough Chessman, followed by Mr. Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mrs. Leopold Ernst; behind them walked, arm in arm, Mrs. Ella Quincy Chessman and Mdme. Rose Archimbault; while bringing up the rear came the Misses Florence Es- telle and Maude Gertrude Sawyer. Maude had politely offered her arm to Florence, but the latter had firmly de- clined to accept it. In this order they entered the gor- geous dinirig-room and took their places at a table bearing evidences of the greatest wealth, if not the greatest refine- ment, to partake of their Christmas dinner. CHAPTER XXXVIII. FBRNBOROUGH. FIVE years passed away, years of not unmixed happi- ness for any of those with whom this story has made us acquainted. Quincy and AHce had undergone a severe trial in the loss of two of the three little ones that had been born to them; the remaining child was a fair little boy, another Quincy, and upon him the bereaved parents lav- ished all the wealth of their tenderness and affection. In his political life, however, Quincy had found only smooth and pleasant sailing, and thanks to his bright and energetic nature, and not a little, perhaps, to his father's name and influence, he had risen rapidly from place to place and honor to honor. One of his earliest political moves had been the introduction of a bill into the House for the separation of Mason's Corner and Eastbrough into indi- vidual communities. Soon after the incorporation of the former town under its new name of Fernborough, Abbot Smith, at Quincy's suggestion, had started the Fernborough Improvement Association, and now after these few years, the result of its labors was plainly and agreeably apparent. The ruins of Uncle Ike's chicken coop had been removed, and grass covered its former site. Shade trees had been planted along all the principal streets, for the new town had streets in- stead of roads. The three-mile road to Eastborough Cen- tre had been christened Mason Street, and the square be- fore Strout & Maxwell's store had been named Mason Square. Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house had become a hotel, and was known as the Hawkins House. The square 470 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. before the church was called Howe's Square, in honor of the aged minister. The old Montrose road was now dig- nified by the appellation of Montrose Avenue. The upper road to Eastborough Centre that led by the old Putnam house was named Pettengill Street, although Ezekiel pro- tested that it was a "mighty poor name for a street, even if it did answer all right for a man." The great square facing Montrose Avenue, upon which the Town Hall and the Chessman Free Public Library had been built, was called Putnam Square. On three sides of it, wide streets had been laid out, on which many pretty houses had been erected. These three streets had been named Quincy Street, Adams Street, and Sawyer Street. It was the morning of the fifteenth of June, a gala day in the history of the town. The fifth anniversary of the laying of the corner stone of the Town Hall and the library was to be commemorated by a grand banquet given in the Town Hall, and was to be graced by many distinguished guests, among them the Hon. Quincy Adams Sawyer and wife, and Mrs. Ella Chessman. After the banquet, which was to take place in the evening, there was to be an open-air con- cert given, followed by a grand display of fireworks. Dur- ing the feast, the citizens were to be admitted to the gal- leries, so that they could see the guests and! listen to the speeches. About ten o'clock the visiting party started oflE to view the sights of the town. Under the leadership of the town officers they turned their steps first "towards the new li- brary. On entering this handsome building, they observed hung over the balcony, facing them, a large oil painting of a beautiful dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, dressed in satin and velvet and ermine, and having a coronet upon her head. Underneath was a tablet bearing an inscription. "An admirable portrait," said Quincy to his wife. "Can you read the tablet, dear? I fear I shall really have to see Dr. Tillotson about my eyes." FEKNBOKODGH. 471 Alice smiled at the allusion, and directing her gaze upon it, read without the slightest hesitation: "Linda Putnam, once a resident of this town, now Countess of Sussex, and donor of this library building, which is named in honor of her father, Charles Chessman, only brother of Robert Chessman." During the evening festivities the Town Hall was bril- liantly lighted, and every seat in the galleries and coigns of vantage were occupied. The guests at the banquet num- bered fully sixty. A Boston caterer, with a corps of trained waiters, had charge of the dinner. During its progress the Cottonton Brass Band performed at intervals. They were stationed in Putnam^ Square, and the music was not an oppressive and disturbing element, as it often is at close range on such occasions. ■When coffee was served, Toastmaster Obadiah Strout, Esq., arose, and the eyes of banqueters and sightseers were turned toward him. "TEis is a glorious day in the history of our town," the toastmaster began. "The pleasant duty has fallen to me of proposing the toasts to which we shall drink, and of intro- ducing our honored guests one by one. I know that words of advice and encouragement will come from them. But before I perform the d'uties that have been allotted to me, it is my privilege to make a short address. Instead of do- ing so, I shall tell you a little story, and it will be a dififer- ent kind of a story from what I have been in the habit of telling." This remark caused an audible titter to arise from some of the auditors in the galleries, and Abner Stiles, who was sitting behind Mrs. Hawkins, leaned over and said to her, "I guess he's goin' to tell a true story." TTie toastmaster continued: "More than six years ago a young man from' the city arrived in this town. It was given out' that he came down here for his health, but he wasn't so sick but that he could begin to take an active part 472 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. in town affairs as soon as he got here. They say confession is good for the soid, and I'm goin' to confess that I didn't take to this young man. I thought he was a city swell, who had come down here to show off, and in company with several friends, who looked at his visit down here about the same as I did, we did all we could for a couple of months to try and drive him out of town. Now I am comin' to the point that I want to make. If we had let him alone the chances are that he wouldn't have stayed here more than a month any way. Now, s'posen he had gone "home at the end of the month; in that case he never would have met the lady who sits by his side to-night, and who by her marriage has added new lustre to her native town. If he had not remained, she never would have written those stories which are known the world over, and I tell you, fel- low-citizens, that in writing Blennerhassett, An American Countess, The Majesty of the Law, and The Street Boy, she has done more to make this town famous than aU the men who were ever born in it." The speaker paused and drank a glass of water, while cheers and applause came from all parts of the gallery. Abner Stiles apparently forgot his surroundings, and, thinking probably that it was a political rally, called out, "Three cheers for Alice Pettengill" ! which were given with a will, much to his delight, and the surprise of the ban- queters. The toastmaster resumed: "If he had gone away dis- gusted with the town and its people, he never would have found out who Linda Putnam really was, and she, conse- -quently, would never have been what she is to-day, a peer- ess of England and the great benefactress of this town, a lady who will always have our deepest affection and most sincere gratitude." Again the orator paused, and the audience arose to its feet. Applause, dheers, and the waving of handkerchiefs attested that the speaker's words had voiced the popular FERNBOROUGH. 47g feeling. Once more Abner Stiles's voice rose above the din, and three cheers for "Lindy Putnam, Countess of Sus- sex," were given with such a will that the band outside caught the enthusiasm and played "God Save the Queen," which most of the audience supposed was "America." "In conclusion," said the orator, "I have one more point to make, and that is a purely personal one. Some writer has said the end justifies the means, and another writer puts it this way, 'Do evil that good may come.' In these two sayin's lies all the justification for many sayin's and doin's that can be found; and if I were a conceited man or one in- clined to praise my own actions, I should say that the good fortune of many of our distinguished guests this evening, and the handsome financial backin' that this town has re- ceived, are due principally to my personal exertions." Here the speaker paused again and wiped his forehead, which was bedewed with perspiration. "Good Lord!" said Mrs. Hawkins to Olive Green, who sat next to her, "to hear that man talk anybuddy would think that nobuddy else in the town ever did an)rthing." "To conclude," said the speaker, "I don't wish, feller- citizens, to have you understand that I am defendin' my actions. They were mean in spirit and' mean in the way in which they were done, but the one against whom they were directed returned good for evil, and heaped coals of fire on my head. At a time when events made me think he was my greatest enemy, he became my greatest friend. It is to his assistance, advice, and influence that I owe the present honorable position that I hold in this town, and here to- night, in his presence, and in the presence of you all, I have made this confession to show that I am truly repentant for the past. At the same time, I cannot help rejoicing in the good fortune that those misdeeds were the means of se- curin' for us all." As the speaker sat down, overcome with emotion, he was greeted with applause, which was redoubled when Mr. Saw- 474 QUIKCY ADAMS SAWYER. yer arose in his seat. But when Quincy leaned forward and extended his hand to Strout, which the latter took, the ex- citement rose to fever heat, and cheers for Quincy Adams Sawyer and Obadiah Strout resounded throughout the hall and fell upon the evening air. This time the band played "The Star Spangled Banner.'' Again the toastmaster arose and said, "Ladies and gen- tlemen, the first toast that I am going to propose to-night is a double one, because, for obvious reasons, it must include not only the State, but its chief representative, who is with us here to-night. Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink to the Old Bay State, and may each loyal heart say within itself, 'God save the Commonwealth of Massachusetts!'" The guests touched their lips to their glasses. "And now," continued the toastmaster, "to his Excellency Quincy Adams Sawyer, Governor of the Commonwealth, whom I have the honor of introducing to you." The Governor arose amid wild applause and loud accla- mations, while the band played "Hail to the Chief!" THE END. The Most Talked About Book of the Dav BLENNERHASSETT A THRILLING ROMANCE "The narrative is well sustained, tlie style vigorous and attractive, and tlie situations are so inteDigently managed and humorously connected, that it is withjregret that the reader lays dov^n the book and contemplates the finis." — New Orleam Picayune, Sept. ij, igot. "The inci^ dents of the tale are intensely dramatic, and the pictures by C. H Stephens are among the most strildng ever given to any historical novel," Soston GJcbe, October j. M All Booksellers. Bound in Blue Silk Cloth. Gilt Top. "Throughout the clever chain of the events of Aaron Burr's dramatic 1 i f e runs the thread of a unique love story — a golden thread that gives its gleam to sombre reali- ties. A brave book and a story forcefully and clearly told. * ' Chicago Record-Herald, Sept. 28' 12 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS PRICE. 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CLARK PUBLISHING CO., BOSTON ...IN PREPARATION... ON SATAN'S MOUNT BY DWIGHT TILTON, Author of ''MISS PETTICOATS" "Andmrnm taking Him up Into an high mountain, shewed unto Him all the kingdoms of the w o p I d m " A .rtrikingly interesting novel upon a^. moj± power- ful and unique theme. The story of a supreme temp- tation and the uplifting of aw soul through the regenerating power of love. Told with remarka^ble breadth and imaginative gra./^, and dealing in masterly style with a vital, sociak,l said economic problem. ARTISTICALLY BOUND. ILLUSTRATED. $1.SO. C. M. CLARK PUBLISHINQ COMPANY, BOSTON Cornell University Library arV104IO Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason's Corner f 3 1924 031 171 980 olin.anx